


Write Our Names in the Wet Concrete

by jezza



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Minho is the roommate everyone needs, Music Students!Woochan, Pining, Seungmin is the bestest best friend, Woochan are super oblivious but that's not their fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezza/pseuds/jezza
Summary: Woojin falls for Chan over late nights in a long winter - but it's not quite that simple when there's his soulmate Chris to consider.Or, in the wise words of Kim Seungmin, Woojin is a flailing boy. But maybe Chan's enough to ground him.





	Write Our Names in the Wet Concrete

**Author's Note:**

> *Jisung voice* whOaH
> 
> I've been writing this fic for a good five months now, so I'm super excited to get it out of my drafts and uploaded. Please enjoy it!!!
> 
> Thank you to [musicanova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicanova/pseuds/musicanova) for your wonderful editing skills! 
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's The Last of the Real Ones.

_Let me take you to a restaurant._

The words are crossed out; and for good reason, too. It’s not the strangest thing that’s turned up on Woojin’s skin, but ever since he’d realised his soulmate likes to scribble down lyrics whenever they may occur to him, he’s taken a certain pleasure in giving feedback on what can sometimes be truly terrible words. Other times, they sit just the other side of brilliant.  

_I cannot express how glad I am that that’s crossed out_. 

The reply doesn’t come quickly. It never does.

Woojin taps his pen against the table for a few minutes, gazing at his skin, hoping that against all odds, against all patterns of habit (and trust him, Chris is a person of habit), something will appear. 

Nothing. 

He sighs. He knows there’ll be a reply sometime today; he’s never been left on read by his soulmate, but he wouldn’t mind just a little less waiting on the edge of his seat, wondering if he’s finally going to get some words that change things.

Woojin makes it through two more pages of theory homework before there’s the faint itch of writing on his skin. 

_Damn, and to think I actually liked that one for all of two minutes_. 

A pause.

_You’re too harsh on me, Jinnie_. 

Woojin can’t stop his grin. As shitty as the lyrics can get (not to mention embarrassing), Chris doesn’t have a shortage of words to make Woojin go weak at the knees. 

Sometimes he wonders if he should tell Chris his full name. The nickname he’d scrawled onto his wrist when he was seven is still all Chris knows him by, and it’s not exactly leading him right to his doorstep. 

Not that anyone’s trying. It’s been a long twenty-one years for Woojin, waiting for his soulmate. Sure, he had no notion of Chris at all for the first six or so, but still. It’s been a while, and he’d like to spend at least a little of his youth with his soulmate. 

(Sometimes, he wonders how the hell he’s meant to find a  _Chris_ who speaks Korean but slips all too often into English, both in lyrics and out. But then he realises he can’t expect Chris to find a  _Jinnie_  and then he’s back to square one.)

He can’t bring himself to be the one that makes the leap - it’s far too daunting for him to scratch out _my name is Kim Woojin, come find me_. Maybe he wants to be wooed. Maybe he wants Chris to be the one to make the move. Woojin knows he’s expressed enough interest, if the amount he flirts is anything to go by. But he needs to know _he’s_ wanted; he needs certainty, reassurance that he’s not just pulling some poor bloke along for the ride as he lives out all his dreams with his faceless soulmate by his side. Chris needs to want Woojin as much as Woojin wants Chris. 

So it’s up to Chris. Woojin will wait. Begrudgingly, he’ll wait.  

He can’t help but feel like he’ll never stop waiting. 

 

-

 

Woojin startles awake. Minho’s right above him, eyes wide open, shit-eating grin on his face.

“You’re grumbling in your sleep again,” he says frankly, moving away to Woojin’s closet; the doors of which are wide open, despite the fact that Woojin most definitely shut them the night before.

“Ugh,” he grumbles, Minho be damned. “What are you even doing in my room?”

“Oh, I wanted to borrow your shirt. You know, that really funny one that has a squirrel on it.”

“What _for_?”

“I’m trying to woo someone,” he says, head deep in the wardrobe, before he emerges with a yell. “Found it! Okay, see ya later Woo bear.”

And with that, he’s gone, shutting Woojin’s door behind him. There’s a few faint bangs and crashes around the apartment and then the resounding thud of the front door slamming shut.

Woojin will never not be baffled by Minho.

It’s no use trying to fall back asleep, so Woojin reluctantly gets up, mourning the hours of sleep he lost thanks to Minho and his wooing. He only has composition class in the afternoon, and Friday is the only day he’ll let himself sleep in. So much for that.

Flicking on his playlist of the month, Woojin moves into the kitchen, humming softly to a trot song that’s most definitely Jeongin’s addition. He isn’t quite sure what to do with himself now that he has all this extra time. His to-do list sits mockingly in the corner, but Woojin can barely bring himself to touch it. But he can’t ignore it either.

So it’s with a strange mix of reluctance and determination that Woojin kills the time until he has to leave with laundry. Minho’s stuck his lights into Woojin’s darks again, but he runs it anyway; perhaps the third grey tinged white shirt in a month will finally teach him a lesson.

Woojin leaves a note next to the clothes horse as he goes, a little passive aggressive smiley face that Minho will probably get tattooed onto his ass, but that’s neither here nor there.

He picks Seungmin up on the way downstairs, swapping a piece of toast for the Winnie the Pooh thermos that Seungmin had bought especially for him.

“Thanks, Minnie.”

Seungmin just hums in response, taking a bite of his toast. They walk in silence to the bus stop, eating their breakfast that really should be lunch (fuck social norms). Woojin doesn’t mind the quiet, it’s good in small doses; anything longer he has to fill with music, but the way Seungmin’s barely said a word doesn’t sit right.

“Seungmin?”

Seungmin glances at him sharply at the sound of his full name. They don’t really use anything other than nicknames with each other anymore, too many years and too much laziness getting in the way of any formality.

“What?”

Woojin just raises an eyebrow. Seungmin knows.

“I’m a bit on edge today. Unsettled. It’ll pass.”

Woojin nods and takes Seungmin’s hand, pulling him up to get on the bus. He lets Seungmin take the window seat so he can doze off against it, and Woojin settles in his own seat, pulling out his earphones. He slips one into his left ear and the other into Seungmin’s right. He queues a playlist of Day6’s greatest hits, and they share earphones all the way to class.

By the time the lecture starts, they’re still listening together, and Woojin’s barely paying attention to what the lecturer’s saying about the new group assignment. He’s read the course profile. He doesn’t mind group work. What he minds, however, is Seungmin backing out of their years-long agreement of sticking by each other when it comes to pairing up. 

“I’m sorry Woojin, but do you see that guy over there? He’s been drawing on his arms the entire lecture,” Seungmin says vaguely apologetically, but keeps his eyes fixed on the boy half way across the room. His ruffled brown hair is falling into brooding eyes that are focused on the scribbles he’s mapping out up and down his arms. 

“They’re drawing a lot today?” 

“A shit tonne. See you, Jinnie.” 

For years now, Seungmin’s arms have almost constantly been filled with drawings, leaving barely any space for him to squeeze in a  _my name is Seungmin, what’s yours?_

The one time he’d tried, he’d gotten no reply, but instead a damn near stunning drawing of Obama covering up his neat lettering. You win some. Seungmin loses most. 

Woojin watches him pick his way carefully between seats, up some stairs and down the boy’s deserted aisle. Seungmin taps him on the shoulder; it’s easy to see that the boy’s not exactly happy about it, but he lifts his head none the less and glances up at Seungmin with tired eyes. 

It takes a few minutes of back and forth conversation, but Seungmin eventually sits down and the boy goes back to drawing. Seungmin ever so slowly pulls his own sleeves up, and after a few minutes pulls them down. 

Woojin can guess what’s happened, if the shocked joy on his face is anything to go by. He sends a thumbs up to Seungmin, hoping his grin might do something to stop the tears that are undoubtedly about to fall. 

It’s bizarre, really, how after so many years of wondering and sadness, Seungmin’s soulmate turns up on the other side of Composition4301 in a haze of blink-and-you-miss-it anonymity. 

Seungmin’s never been one to blink. 

Woojin, it seems, is. 

With a sigh, he turns his attention away from Seungmin; Woojin needs to find his own partner. He’d been so caught up in watching Seungmin and his soulmate that the rest of the class has all paired off and started to leave. 

He glances around for a stray soul – he’ll take anyone really – and he finds one. There’s a guy sitting a few rows back, fast asleep on the desk and Woojin can’t help but grin at the way his curls fall over his notebook as he dozes. 

As he gets closer, he can see the way his eyelids twitch, as chaotic as his curls. If this is how he is when he’s asleep, Woojin’s a little apprehensive to what the guy’s like awake. But he shakes a shoulder anyway; the need for an assignment group is greater than any fear Woojin may or may not have of caffeine rogue young men. 

“Mm, is it morning already?” 

His voice,  _god_ his voice. It’s a little scratchy from sleep, but Woojin would wake up every damn morning at five am to record the way sleep brings an alluring tone what he can guess is a naturally hoarse singing voice. 

His mind’s already spinning with ideas for the composition just from this guy’s sleepy mumblings and he _loves it_. 

“Hey,” Woojin starts, sitting down gently into the next seat. “I’m Woojin. We’re the only two left without a pair for the composition assignment, so I guess we’ll be working together... unless you’ve already got a partner?” 

“Oh!” the boy startles, sitting up straighter and glancing around at the still emptying lecture room. The lecturer glances up from the front at the outburst, eyes narrowing, and Woojin cringes. He hopes she doesn’t remember their faces too closely. 

“Yeah, I’m happy to work together. I don’t have a partner either, uh, both my friends ditched me for each other. Apparently I’m too demanding.” The last part is let out a little hesitantly, with a lot of self-deprecation. 

Woojin lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, I know how that feels. Should we arrange some times to meet to work?” 

After some schedule shuffling and discovering that they in fact have over half their classes together, they figure out a few days over the next week to meet. 

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Woojin,” he says, smiling as they part ways at the door. 

Woojin smiles, nods, waves, and walks away. 

He’s only made it two steps before his brain catches up. 

“ _Wait!_  What’s your name?” 

The boy turns around, the back of his hair an utter mess from all the napping. 

“Chan. Bang Chan.” 

And then Bang Chan walks backwards down the corridor, eyes locked with Woojin’s until he turns the corner and is out of sight. 

 

-

 

“So?” Woojin asks as soon as the phone line connects. He’s lying in bed, reading over some notes while waiting for the phone to ring.

“His name’s Hyunjin,” Seungmin says, voice all shy and cute. “Definitely my soulmate. He’s… he’s really cute. I can’t say much about his personality yet.”

Woojin laughs. “Just as talkative in person then?”

“Just about,” Seungmin sighs. “I could barely get him to talk to me. But I’m not really too worried about it? He didn’t seem like he didn’t want me there, you know? He just- didn’t really talk. But he wasn’t hostile. I’m more worried about the assignment, honestly.”

“Hopefully he just needs some time to open up,” Woojin hums, “maybe it’ll get better the more time he spends with you.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“It’ll all work out. You just need some time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“This is hardly Rome, Woojin,” Seungmin drones dryly, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Woojin can’t stop the laugh that escapes him. He hopes Hyunjin enjoys Seungmin’s as much as he does. “Feeling better than this morning?”

“Much. Thank you, though.”

“For what?” Woojin asks, tilting his head a little as he pulls the covers tighter around him. 

“Just being there, I suppose, through all of this. It doesn’t seem real that I’ve found him, but I feel hopeful,” he says, cutting off with a little laugh. “I feel… happy.”

“I’m glad. But you should sleep. You’re meeting him again in the morning, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Seungmin says shyly. “You need sleep too, though! Stop studying so much.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Woojin laughs, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Mm. Night.”

They hang up, and Woojin wastes a good five minutes just sitting, thinking about how it’s all about to change for Seungmin, for _them_ , and change mostly for the better. He eyes the latest lyrics scrawled near the crease of his inner elbow.

_I can rely on a broken compass_.

He’d smiled damn near uncontrollably when he’d first read it. This is the stuff that makes him proud to be Chris’ soulmate, the kind of lyric he just _knows_ is going to be a part of a great song. He wishes he could hear it.

“Where are you, Chris?”

He sighs, leans over, and flicks off the light.

 

-

 

The first time he meets Chan in the music studios, Woojin stops in his tracks, shaking his head in disbelief. He finds Chan in front of a monitor, too many cluttered windows open with sound bites and hastily typed lyrics. Massive headphones are squashing his hair and his sleepy eyes are blinking as rapidly as the ticking of the metronome in the corner. 

Chan’s an overworked, wired, exhausted bag of triangles. 

“Hello,” he calls softly, tapping on the door as he slowly moves into the room. He gets the feeling that any sudden movements will send Chan into cardiac arrest. 

Chan jumps, pushing himself around on the spinny chair, pulling his headphones off as he turns. 

“Oh! Woojin! Right, yes we’re meeting today. How are you?” 

“Fine, thank you. How’s uni life treating you this week?” he asks, sinking down onto the couch at the side of the studio.

“Absolutely terribly,” Chan says with a grin, “but let’s not talk about that. The assignment – do you have much experience with composing at all?”

Woojin can’t do anything to stop the eyebrow that raises on its own accord. Because, _really_.

“Well, you’d certainly hope so, seeing as this is a fourth-year advanced composition class.”

“Right, yes, I guess so,” Chan splutters in reply, ears reddening ever so slightly. “We shouldn’t have any problems then. It’s a fairly simple assignment, really, just one song, but then again it is only worth twenty percent, so fair enough I guess…”

Woojin just sits and waits out the rambling. It’s a little funny, he decides against his will, seeing Chan try and fail to cover up his faux pas, but he doesn’t mind. It’s a little endearing.

“Yeah, I think we’ll be just fine. We should be able to make something really good if we put in the time. I have no problem with that and I take it you don’t either?” he asks, eyeing the mass of notes and empty coffee cups scattered on the desk, feeling the stuffiness of the room.

“Not at all. I don’t compromise when it comes to music, by the way. I know I can make nothing but the best, so I don’t.”

Chan still looks like he thinks he’s going to scare Woojin off, that his own brand of hard core, take no prisoners work ethic is too much for anyone else to handle. Woojin just smiles. Chan really hasn’t gotten the message yet.

“Sounds fabulous. I’m a bit of a perfectionist myself; don’t you worry about me.”

“Alright then!” Chan smiles, turning back to his desktop.

Woojin’s a little shaken by the way he flits between cheerful fumbling and serious musician mode, but hey, whatever works.

It’s a startlingly different image to the Chan he’d seen falling asleep in the back of the lecture room.

“I had a few ideas that I wrote out the other day. I didn’t want to start anything without your input so we can scrap any of this. Or use it, I don’t mind.”

Chan plays a few snippets of some tracks, barely even demos of demos, but Woojin hears it. He can hear something a little playful, a little dark. Chan wasn’t kidding when he said he could make the best. He can hear the talent.

“This sounds good,” Woojin says slowly, flicking through the files of the tracks, considering. “I think we could definitely use the second one, it’s got a nice vibe and I’ve done some stuff with that style before. I like the brass.”

“Well thank god for that,” Chan says, “that one’s my favourite as well.”

Woojin glances over at Chan, seeing the smile on his face. He can’t help but mirror it, and they just grin at each other, quietly hopeful that this assignment might be all smooth sailing and clear skies.

“Perfect. Now, in terms of vocals–”

“Ah yes. I know some performance majors that we can ask,” Chan interrupts.

Woojin raises an eyebrow.

“Um, unless there was anyone you had in mind,” he says sheepishly and Woojin just sighs.

“You don’t do much group work, do you?”

Chan laughs a little. “More than you’d think. Just demanding, remember?”

“Yeah, I do,” Woojin says, rolling his eyes, “anyway, I just usually sing for my own compositions. I’m happy to for this one as well.”

“You sing?” Chan asks, sounding far too surprised. 

“Don’t I look like a singer?” Woojin laughs.

“Nah,” Chan says, tilting his head, “kinda like you’d be an accountant, actually.”

Woojin snorts. “I actually get that a lot.”

“Well, Mister Singing Accountant, if your voice fits, go right ahead.”

“It’ll fit.”

If there’s one thing Woojin’s not worried about in his mess of a life, it’s his singing abilities.

“Great! Now, let’s decide on a few more things, then I think we can call it a day.”

Woojin’s not gonna complain; he’s got Minho and far too much study waiting for him at home.

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

-

 

Woojin enjoys thunder. It’s not something he really thinks about, but it doesn’t scare him compared to the storm raging inside his brain. He’s sitting alone in his favourite late-night chicken place, abandoned once again by Seungmin who’s now on a quest to spend every possible waking minute with Hyunjin. He doesn’t begrudge him for that, not in the slightest, but it’s a big change for Woojin, being the only one left in the slightly-shitty-soulmate-club.

The basket of chicken in front of him is nearly empty, but he’s prolonging eating the last few pieces, waiting out the rain for the clear skies he knows are coming. In the meantime, he queues his favourite ballad playlist and pulls a pen out of his bag.

Woojin lives for the angsty teen novel aesthetic.

_It’s raining here_

_I quite enjoy the rain_

He doesn’t expect anything, it’s one of the more drab things he’s written, but there’s sometimes not much to say and Woojin doesn’t mind filling the gaps with simple passing words. Just enough to let Chris know he’s thinking of him.

Nothing shows up on his skin for a good two songs, so Woojin slowly starts eating again, savouring the last remnants of cheese flavouring and pickled radish. He’s eyeing the wonky lettering he’s done – _god, what even is that a it looks like a sad 9_ – when the handwriting he knows better than his own starts to fade its way onto his skin.

Chris is writing slowly; perhaps he’s burning the midnight oil just as much as Woojin, or maybe he’s just beginning to see the first shards of sunlight. Either way, it doesn’t really matter because Chris seems interested in the shit Woojin has to say for once. The one time he talks about the _weather_.

_Funny, it’s raining here too_

_I don’t like the rain_

Woojin can’t help but laugh. Chris has all the imagination in the world when it comes to lyrics, but his small talk can’t share the same compliment.

Nonetheless, he sets the pen back against his skin, drawing careful strokes, dotting Is and crossing Ts, filling Chris in about his day. His simple, mediocre day, full of rain and dust, but it’s  _his_ day, and that counts for something.

_Tell me about your day?_

_My kitchen light went out and I bought the wrong replacement bulb_  

Chris is an idiot, Woojin decides with finality, every contrary piece of evidence he has be damned.

 

-

 

Woojin’s amped the heating way up, and he’s not allowed to turn it down until he’s done with this bitch of an assignment. It’s a good way of pushing himself; it’s not far enough into winter to justify much heating at all, let alone a full blast. So it’s with a little sweat on the back of his neck and an empty water glass mocking him that Minho finds him on a Tuesday night.

“Good lord, I’m turning that off,” Minho whines, fiddling with the dial. He goes as far to open the windows, something they usually avoid given the smoker that lives upstairs, and Woojin wonders just _how_ hot it’s become in his room. “You’ve gotta stop this, Jinnie. It’s boiling in here.”

“I kinda stopped noticing after a while,” Woojin admits sheepishly. “I haven’t finished this assignment, though.” He frowns as he checks his notes. There’s still at least three points he needs to polish, a few more he needs to _start_ and the cool evening air that’s filtering in through the open window isn’t the only thing that’s raising goosebumps.

Minho just sighs. “When’s it due?”

“A little under two weeks.”

“Great, that’s plenty of time!” Minho yells. “You’re coming with me to work.”

“Do I have to?” Woojin moans, giving Minho his best pout. It’s not that he doesn’t like tagging along when Minho has a set at the jazz bar; he loves hearing him sing, he really does, but Woojin’s itching to get back to his essay, sentence fragments tumbling around his brain at a breakneck speed that won’t slow down until it’s out onto paper.

But he knows with the look that Minho gives him that he has no chance.

“You’re coming, Jinnie. Don’t make me drag you out of here,” he calls as he leaves the room, no doubt to go find his leather pants that apparently _really make the show_.

Woojin grumbles a little, before finally hitting save and shutting his laptop down. Maybe a night out will do him good, and he’s never one to turn down the free drinks Minho gets. Nevertheless though, he digs out an old pocket notebook, shoving it in the pocket of his nicer jeans. Just in case.

“You ready, Woojin?” Minho calls, and Woojin goes to join him, just remembering to shut his window. He doesn’t want to come home to a smoky igloo, no thank you. “Ooh, you look nice.”

Woojin snorts. “Not as nice as you.”

And it’s true. Sure enough, Minho’s got on his iconic leather pants and a purple silk shirt that hangs off his shoulders just so. Jazz bar indeed. 

As always, the bar’s pretty quiet when they get there. It usually picks up when Minho’s a few songs in, the crush of the night driving people underground to get wasted on drinks and high on music.

Woojin picks a table closer to the back. There’s plenty to choose from, but he doesn’t like to take the good spots when he’s not even a paying customer. Minho sits with him for a while, and they drink a little, passing the time easily until Minho has to go up on stage.

“See ya soon, Jinnie,” Minho grins, shooting Woojin finger guns before disappearing into the back. Woojin’s actually pretty excited now that he’s here. There’s an undeniable air in this bar that gets to him every time; it fills his lungs with adrenaline and ease all at once, and he loves it.

He should tag along with Minho more.

But now? Now, Woojin’s fuming. He brought a notebook, he even _stole_ a pen from a passing waiter, but just as he was about to scribble down the missing part of his fourth paragraph, Minho comes on stage. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue. Woojin’s an expert at ignoring Minho at the hardest of times. The problem’s the pianist. It’s not the usual girl that accompanies Minho and spins the bar into a whirl with breath-taking solos, but instead, it’s one Bang Chan, silver hair glinting all too prettily in the dim light of the bar.

He and Minho exchange a grin and what looks awfully like a gang sign before they’re off, filling the bar with an exquisite rendition of _Chattanooga Choo Choo._

Woojin is damn weak for Glenn Miller.

“What are you, Bang Chan?” he grumbles, downing the last of his whiskey. _Talented people_.

The rest of the set’s a bit of a whirlwind. Woojin can’t keep his eyes off Chan, who’s mesmerizing when he plays, all dignified presses of the keys and graceful movements to the beat. But then there’s Minho, stealing all his attention when he damn near starts stripping to _Somebody Loves Me_. Woojin cheers perhaps a little too loudly, but who really gives a fuck when Minho winks right at him, letting his shirt slip even further down a shoulder.

Somehow, Chan doesn’t notice any of this, too caught up in the piano and reeling Minho back in with the steady beat. Woojin’s kinda happy with that. He doesn’t really fancy having to talk to Chan here, facing the inevitable fumble for conversation that comes when they’re done with the _oh you know Minho too!_

So he stays at his table, waiting until they’re done with the set, until Minho comes back out, and thank god he’s by himself.

“You ready to go?” Minho asks, and Woojin nods, shrugging his jacket back on.

They decide to walk back to the apartment, it’s not really that far, and Minho’s got a hankering for chicken nuggets that demands a detour to the nearest fast food place. Woojin waits until they’re back on route, nuggets in hand, to say what’s been on his mind.

“You didn’t tell me that you got a new pianist.”

“Huh? Chan? He’s not new, he just works Tuesdays and Thursdays. Jeongyeon’s there the rest of the time,” Minho says around a mouthful of chicken. “Cool dude.”

“He’s my partner for Composition.”

“Oh no shit?” Minho sounds far less staggered at this revelation than Woojin is.

“Yeah. I was surprised to see him tonight.”

Minho hums. “He’s a good pianist. A great musician. You’ll write one hell of a song with him.”

“I’ve gotten that impression,” Woojin laughs a little, stealing a nugget from Minho. “He’s a little… intense though.”

“Ah yes, that he is. It’s not _bad_ though, it just makes him better at what he does. You lucked out, Jinnie.”

Woojin’s not really sure if he wants to _luck out._ Minho’s luck has always been the find-it-at-the-bottom-of-a-well, racing hearts, daredevil kind of luck, and Woojin’s more than happy to stick to his search for four leaf clovers and rainbows.

“We’ll see.”

He’ll see.

 

-

 

“Woojin.”

“Mm?” he hums noncommittally, too busy reading the goddamn _paragraph_ that he’d noticed after shedding his sweater.

“Woojin!”

He finally looks up at Jeongin who’s sitting there with a disapproving frown, making Woojin feel like the younger one.

“Right, sorry. What’s up?”

Jeongin sighs. “Finish your food. I wanna be on time to the movie.”

Woojin winces, feeling a little guilty. He and Jeongin have had plans to see the new Avengers ever since they’d seen the trailer, and here he is, barely paying attention to the dinner they’re grabbing before the movie starts, completely ignoring Jeongin in favour of Chris.

It’s not his fault that the heating in the restaurant is too hot for sweater weather, and it’s certainly not his fault that Chris has suddenly found a voice, and is using that voice to send a _paragraph_ to _Woojin_. It’s not that interesting really, just a story about some outing he’d had with his _cuz_ , whatever that meant, but Woojin enjoys reading nonetheless.

Chris wanted to share it with him. And Woojin will proceed to read far much into that.

“Sorry, Innie. I’m nearly done.”

Woojin shovels some more rice into his mouth, shooting Jeongin a grin around his mouthful. Jeongin doesn’t look impressed; just rolls his eyes and glances at his watch. Woojin feels the guilt creep back in, but Jeongin’s shoulders relax a little and he leans back into his seat.

“What did he say, then?” Jeongin asks, nodding at Woojin’s arm.

Woojin just snorts. “Not much. Just telling me about his day.”

“That’s new,” Jeongin hums.

It is. It really is. Woojin doesn’t want to hope, but this might be the start of Chris coming around to him.

“I know,” he nods, “I think this is a good sign.”

“Just be careful, Woojin.”

Woojin rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Now who’s being the dad here? Come on, I’m finished.”

They leave arm in arm, stepping over the cracks in the pavement, grins matching as they spot defiant daisies breaking through the concrete. Days with Jeongin are simple, and Woojin relishes the chance to feel like a kid again. He’s an old soul, but sometimes he longs for the ease of throwaway afternoons in the sun.

 

-

 

Woojin frowns at his phone. Seungmin’s busy again, off on his quest to win Hyunjin’s favour, Minho’s doing his _wooing_ and Jeongin’s on self-imposed study lockdown.

He’s alone.

He really doesn’t want to be.

It’s been a day full of disappointment and challenge that he’d rather just forget and Woojin needs to get out of his own head. It’s a little after ten, but the 24-hour coffee shop on the corner is his best friend. Woojin bundles himself up in a scarf and the warmest coat he owns, probably more than he needs in these early winter days, but he appreciates the feeling of security nonetheless.

He has to run a little to avoid the light rainfall. He’s not too keen on getting wet, knowing it would just make him sick, what with his luck. Woojin’s relieved to see the lights of the café, revels in the jingle of the bell as he pushes open the door. Shaking the rain out of his hair, he strolls up to the counter, a familiar head of curls catching his attention on the way.

He still hasn’t spoken to Chan since the first time they met in the studio, so he hesitates for a second, considering, before calling out.

“Chan?”

Chan turns, looking a little startled, perhaps a little manic, the late night creeping into the redness of his eyes, the knottiness of his curls.

“Oh! Woojin! Fancy meeting you here?”

It sounds more like a question and Woojin smiles. He unwraps his scarf from around his neck and sits down opposite Chan.

“Mm. I’ve never seen you here before. I live just up the street.”

“Oh,” Chan says, “I don’t live anywhere near here. I just like the smoothies.”

“They are pretty good,” Woojin chuckles.

He’s not quite sure what to say. He and Chan haven’t really talk about anything other than the assignment; he’s not sure where to start.

He’s about to throw out one of his fail safe generic conversation starters when he notices the rigidity in Chan’s frame and the way his hand shakes ever so slightly as he taps something out on his keyboard.

“Are… are you feeling okay?” he asks tentatively, taking a leap and praying he’s not overstepping the boundaries of their infantile friendship.

At his question though, Chan slumps. He collapses, really, all the air deflating out of him, tension melting into a sadness Woojin knows a little too well.

“I’m a bit of an insomniac,” Chan begins, eyes on his keyboard, picking at some non-existent dust. “It catches up with me, sometimes. Makes it a little hard to function.”

“I get it,” Woojin murmurs, leaning his face onto his hand. “Well, probably not exactly, I don’t technically have insomnia, but I have other things that keep me awake.”

Chan nods.

“It’s a bitch, isn’t it?” he laughs. It’s brittle.

“Sometimes,” Woojin says slowly, “I’ve come to find the night quite beautiful though.”

The look Chan gives him makes him feel like he’s levelled up their friendship.

“I wish I had your optimism,” Chan sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been like this for close to seven years now, and nothing ever seems to make it the slightest bit more bearable.”

“You’ll find something,” Woojin reassures him, praying blindly that it’s not a false hope. “It might just take a little more time. But for now, I’m going to get one of those smoothies. You want anything?”

“Oh… a watermelon one, please. Wait, I’ll get some cash…” Chan leans down to rummage in his backpack, but Woojin stops him with a hand on his shoulder as he gets up.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

He leaves Chan at the table, walking off with a smile. When he orders, he throws in a few cookies for good measure, because, really, who doesn’t like cookies. And besides, the soft, surprised smile on Chan’s face as he walks back to the table with the tray is more than worth it.

“Thank you, Woojin,” Chan says, eyes serious, and Woojin understands the depth of those words, sees how they go past a drink and a biscuit.

“Anytime,” he replies easily, picking a cookie off the tray and breaking it in half. “So,” he starts, “what are your thoughts on that absurd chant that was on the homework last week?”

And with that, they talk the night away, chatting about everything and nothing, well past when their cups are empty and the cookies are nothing but a few crumbs on the plate.

Chan walks him home. Woojin tries to protest, it’s really only a few minutes away, but Chan seems to think that that’s all the more reason to do it. They walk in silence, appreciating the darkness of the first hours of the morning. Woojin slows to a stop at the bottom of his building, giving Chan a small smile.

“Thanks, Channie.”

“Channie?” Chan huffs out with a laugh.

“Yeah, why not?” is all the reason Woojin has, but Chan rolls with it.

“Sure.”

They just stare at each other for a minute, letting the fatigue of a long day and a longer night wash over them until it forces them to break the contact.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” Chan says, making no effort to turn and walk back the way they came, instead taking a slow step back, and another, until he’s walking away backwards, eyes locked onto Woojin’s. “See you, Kim Woojin.”

He turns just in time to avoid running into a streetlight and Woojin doubles over with laughter.

“See you, Bang Chan,” he calls down the block, watching as Chan gives a final wave before turning the corner.

Woojin can’t help but hum a little as the lift takes him to his apartment, feeling floaty clouds of happiness bubbling in his stomach.

Maybe it’s feeling like he could spew rainbows that distracts him from the fact that the lights of his apartment are on, despite the fact that he’d most definitely turned them off before he left, despite the fact that Minho was sleeping at a friend’s place.

And then he sees Seungmin.

He’s curled up on the sofa, drinking what Woojin suspects is his favourite spiked hot chocolate out of his favourite mug (all supplied by Woojin’s kitchen of course).

“Seungmin?”

“Oh, hey Jinnie,” he says, barely glancing up from his mug. “Sorry for just turning up. I just needed to talk.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m just sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” Woojin says, settling down beside Seungmin and stealing a sip of his hot chocolate. Yep. Kahlua. “What’s up?”

Seungmin all but glowers.

“Hyunjin.”

“Ah.”

Woojin decides it’s better to wait for Seungmin to start talking; it’s not something he really knows how to approach, and the last thing he wants to do is stick his foot into something that’s so uncertain. Talking about soulmates for him and Seungmin has always been a hypothetical, a _when will we ever meet these pieces of shit we’re fated to be with_? But now? With Hyunjin just an arm’s reach away, carless phrases and throwaway words of contempt can do more harm than good.

“God, Woojin, it’s just so damn hard,” Seungmin says, all remnants of any kind of strength shattering. “Most days he’s so damn closed off and bitter, and I know he’s been badly hurt, but I honestly don’t know if I can do this. But then sometimes he forgets all that and he’s just an adorable little puppy. I don’t know what to do with him anymore.” 

Woojin listens. He lets Seungmin talk, curled up against his chest in a rare moment of clinginess. Seungmin likes to act like he’s a bad bitch, and he totally is, but the marshmallow at his core is all too sweet. 

“I’m not gonna give up on him, but I just need something back from him. I need to know if he actually wants to be with me.” 

“He must, if he’s stuck around for this long. Honestly, the fact that he heard you out in the first place is pretty promising,” Woojin muses, playing with Seungmin’s hair a little. “Like, if he didn’t want anything to do with you, soulmates or not, he wouldn’t have let you into his life this easily. He doesn’t seem like the type to give people the time of day if he doesn’t want to.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I always am,” Woojin sings, “and, even if you don’t end up with him in a romantic sense, you’ve still got him with you. That’s gotta count for something.” 

Seungmin purses his lips, and Woojin knows that it must be killing him to admit whatever he’s gonna say next. 

“I like him so much I don’t even care about any of that. I just want him in my life.”

“Simple then. Just be there for him as he sorts out his shit, because you’re not the problem. Don’t make yourself one, alright? He doesn’t need that.”

“Yeah. But I don’t think he needs me either.”

“Everyone needs you, Minnie.”

 

-

 

Woojin settles himself back on the sofa, eyeing his wrist with mild distaste. He feels… behind. Seungmin’s out there sorting his shit out, now that he’s finally got a chance to sort it, but here’s Woojin, nothing lost, nothing gained just because he refuses to take a chance. 

He wonders if he’s just been wasting his time, letting too many opportunities that others would kill to have pass by.

So Woojin brings a pen to his wrist. 

He hesitates. 

_Where do you live?_

It’s entirely ridiculous that he’s never asked before. There’s always been a barrier with Chris, like anything crossing the line between ink and reality was forbidden. He never felt like he  _could_  ask. And maybe he was a little terrified of just how many miles away anyone called  _Chris_ would live. 

They’ve been talking more lately; what had been once or twice a week has suddenly become close to every day, little notes and thoughts penned out onto eager skin. It’s tense. Not a bad tense, just tense. There’s an underlying tension. 

Maybe it’s because of that, but for the first time, Woojin can feel Chris’ hesitation as he starts to write out a reply. 

_Seoul._  

Woojin’s heart can’t take this. With shaking hands, he struggles to write out a coherent reply. 

_Oh me too!! How exciting ^_^_

It’s not the time to propose a meeting, so Woojin steers the conversation to a breakdown of a new chicken shop that Chris may have gone to, happily scrawling the afternoon away with too many giggles and caught breaths. 

 

-

 

Woojin leans his way into the door, pushing it open with his shoulder so not to disturb the coffee in his hands. He’s feeling the burn of the night today; a little too much fatigue pulling at his eyes, far too few hours in the day for a panicking university student. 

Nonetheless, he hums a quick melody as he climbs the stairs to the studio, enjoying the preppy staccato beats his brain provides against all odds. He makes a note to file a particular phrase away for later, tilting his head in consideration as he wonders how it’ll go in their pre-chorus. 

Woojin’s so distracted by the layers of sounds playing in his mind’s orchestra that he doesn’t notice the two boys in the room with Chan until it’s too late. 

“Channie, I had an idea- oh! Hello.”

The three boys turn to stare at him, and god why are they  _all_  wearing beanies. 

“Oh, hey Woojin! This is Changbin and Jisung,” Chan says, gesturing first to scary beanie boy and second to cute beanie boy. “We’ve just been working on a track this evening. But they’re gonna leave now.” 

“Hey no fair!” Jisung whines, “the heating in here is the best!” 

“Too bad,” Chan says remorselessly, pushing Jisung out of his seat. “Out. We have work to do.”

Changbin grumbles a little, but gathers his stuff together nonetheless, and helps drag Jisung outside, protests raining down on their deaf ears.

“Sorry about that,” Chan smiles sheepishly, “I lost track of time.”

“It’s fine. Are they in another one of your classes?”

“Yeah, they’re in most of them, but they’re friends. They’re in Comp4301 too, I think I mentioned them? The ones that find me, ah, a little demanding.”

Woojin chuckles. “Oh, _those_ ones. You compose with them a lot, then?”

Chan ducks his head a little, a shy look replacing the fondness that had previously ruled his features.

“Yeah, we have a crew I guess?” he says hesitantly. “God, it sounds so silly when you say it like that.”

“Crew? Like, rapping?” Woojin asks, eyebrows rising. 

“Yeah. SoundCloud and all.”

“Interesting,” he hums, mainly to mess with Chan, who’s looking more than a little embarrassed, running his hands through his already messy hair, beanie long discarded. Woojin thinks it’s cool though; he doesn’t know anyone who can rap, and he’ll happily make the assumption that Chan wouldn’t mess with something he couldn’t do _well_. “What’s your name? I’m gonna look you up when I get home.”

Chan turns positively scarlet.

“3RACHA,” he mumbles, so softly that Woojin almost misses it. 

“Like the hot sauce?” he crows. “That’s hilarious. Wow, your music better be great to be able to get away with a name like that.”

“It is!” Chan says, a little indignant. You don’t cross Bang Chan when it comes to his music. “Just listen and you’ll see.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Woojin smiles, grin far larger in his mind than on his face. He finds it perhaps a little too much fun to mess so much with Chan, but the little pout he gets compliments his sleepy eyes so cutely. And maybe Woojin’s just a little bit of a bitch.

“Moving _on_. What’s this idea you were talking about when you came in?”

“Oh! I was wondering what would happen if we added some staccato, maybe glock, to the pre-chorus? I get that the mood is getting a bit darker there for the chorus, but imagine it. Like, dark carnival vibes. Clowns and shit.” 

“ _Clowns and shit_?” Chan repeats, mouth agape, eyebrows raised. Woojin falters for a second; he’d had a solid idea of the what he was talking about, he _knows_ it could work, but his description skills might be a little lacking.

Suddenly though, Chan laughs. “That’s kind of brilliant, Kim Woojin. _Clowns and shit_.” This time, when Chan looks at him, there’s appraisal in his eyes, a look Woojin’s seen before, but something he’s never going to get used to. Or maybe he’ll just never get used to the riot it sets off in his stomach.

“Alright,” Woojin smiles, hiding his relief, “I’ll get started on that, then.”

Chan just nods, still chuckling slightly. He turns back to the monitor, shutting down the files he’d had open for Changbin and Jisung and pulls up their composition draft.

“It’s all yours,” he says, rolling backwards in his chair, leaving Woojin to his _clowns and shit_.

 

-

 

It’s close to dawn when Woojin caves and opens SoundCloud. It’s research, he tells himself as he types _3RACHA_ into the search bar. He’s surprised by the number of tracks he finds; Chan had made it seem like it was a small side project, something for when they had a little extra time, but what Woojin has found is far from that. There’s a veritable discography here, enough for three albums at least, and Woojin wonders if he’s perhaps in over his head.

He picks a song at random. It’s good – there was never any doubt about that, Chan’s basically a genius – but Woojin didn’t expect it to be _this_ good. He can tell it’s Jisung rapping, his high voice bending in tone and velocity and it’s all Woojin can do to follow. He’s surprised by the depth of the lyrics; they bely the playful beat in a way that he finds transfixing. 

Woojin adds the song to his playlist. A few minutes later, he adds another. And another. 

After an hour, there’s about twenty _3RACHA_ songs sitting in his downloads.

 

-

 

Woojin’s woken from his nap by yelling. While he does live in apartment building where any and every sound travels like mad, he’s more than certain that it’s Seungmin causing the ruckus. There are shards in Seungmin’s voice; the sharp words and cruel tones he only pulls out for when he’s _really_ mad.

Seungmin gets like that sometimes, loses himself in anger that he doesn’t intend to let spiral so far, so Woojin makes his way downstairs to reel him back in. It only gets louder as he gets closer, voices spilling out into the hallway, Hyunjin’s blending in, a cacophony born of the rage only truly caring about something can bring.

And then, silence.

The door’s open when he gets there, and Woojin’s almost afraid as he steps through. Fear be damned though, because Seungmin’s pinning Hyunjin down on the couch, kissing him with far more tongue than Woojin ever needs to see _thank you very much_.

“Oh.”

They break apart, Hyunjin blushing furiously, Seungmin not quite looking Woojin in the eye.

“So… I heard shouting, but I’m guess everything’s just dandy now?”

“Quite,” Hyunjin squeaks, hiding behind Seungmin and all the pillows he can get his hands on.

“Go away, Jinnie,” Seungmin whines. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Sure, sure,” Woojin sings, already turning to leave. “Have fun kids!”

He’s inside his apartment when he sends Seungmin a text, snickering as he types.

**_so im guessing you and hyunjin figured out your differences_ **

**_Shush you._** **_He’s cute what can I do_ **

**_ive seen what you can do_ **

**_S H U S H_ **

**_go back to him but tell me everything later okay_ **

**_Of course ily Jinnie_ **

**_ily minnie_**  

Woojin sighs and tosses his phone onto his bed. He’s happy that Seungmin and Hyunjin have figured it out; he could see the weight that was pressing down on Seungmin’s shoulders, pushing him further and further into the ground, trying to balance working out someone else’s happiness at the same time as his own.

It’s been gradual, really, but Seungmin’s been slipping further and further into Hyunjin’s life and slipping more out of Woojin’s. He doesn’t want it any other way; Seungmin and Hyunjin are literally destined to be together and there’s no way Woojin can get between that. It’s just a change – what was Seungmin and Woojin against the world is now just Woojin bumbling along, hoping for a love of his own.

Maybe he needs to join a lonely hearts club.

 

-

 

**_get dinner with me ive been ditched_ **

Woojin stares. He reads the message, reads it again, reads it a third time. It doesn’t make any more sense to him the more he reads it, so he’ll take it at face value.

Bang Chan needs an emergency friend. Bang Chan is not asking him on a date.

**_dress code?_ **

**_smart casual. ive got a r e s e r v a t i o n_ **

**_fancy_ **

“Ooh, where are you going, Jinnie?” Minho crows from the hallway, peering into the bathroom at the hurricane Woojin’s created.

“Out. With a boy,” Woojin sighs.

“A date?!”

“Sadly not.”

Minho hums. “Let me work my magic. Then the next time you go out with this boy it will be a date.”

“Have at me,” Woojin laughs, letting Minho push him down onto the hamper as he starts fussing with his hair.

“Woojin. Do you know you have a great forehead?” Minho says, deadpan, eyes meeting Woojin’s in the mirror.

“What?”

“Your forehead. It’s spectacular. So we’re gonna show it off. I’m sure I have hairspray somewhere in here…”

Woojin watches in amusement as Minho rummages in the bathroom cupboards, muttering under his breath about waylaid hairspray and a dancer’s essential supply never running low. He doesn’t put his hair up much, more than content to let his fringe fall into his eyes like the little lost puppy that he’s long since accepted as his spirit animal.

“Found it!” Minho calls, and once again, Woojin just laughs.

“Come at me.”

“Sure.”

Ten minutes later, and Woojin has a forehead.

“See, Jinnie? Look at that.”

Minho has a point, Woojin finds. There’s something to be said for foreheads. Woojin looks… _good_.

“Now, where did you put your ass jeans?”

Woojin blushes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho sings. “The jeans that I gave you for Christmas two years ago that fit you perfectly because I’m magic like that.”

“Aren’t they… you know. A bit revealing?”

“That’s the whole _point_. We’re winning over this boy with your forehead and your ass. Maybe some thighs too.”

“I suppose that’s all I’ve got going for me.”

“That’s the spirit!”

And five minutes later, Woojin’s got himself squeezed into the tightest pair of jeans he’s ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on, and Minho’s looking positively _delighted_.

“Hmm. Ten out of ten would bang. If you weren’t, you know, trying to Bang Chan.”

Woojin freezes. “That is a terrible a pun. And how did you even know it was Chan?”

“Oh please. You’re terribly obvious, Jinnie. But don’t worry. I give you my blessing.”

“Gee, thanks,” Woojin squeals, rolling his eyes for good measure, just in case Minho didn’t get the message.

Minho walks him to the door, not letting him leave before giving him one last up and down.

“You look great. Have fun, alright Jinnie?”

“Okay, mum!”

“None of that sass, young man!”

Perhaps Woojin dreams of slamming the door on Minho, but he’s too considerate of his neighbours for that, so he settles for flipping him off as he skips over to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Chan’s waiting for him outside, and this is most certainly _not a date just a matter of convenience_.

“Woojin! You, uh… have a forehead.”

Chan sounds far too flustered. Minho was certainly onto something with this forehead thing.

“Yes. As do you, I’m assuming.” 

“Yeah. Not as nice as yours though,” Chan laughs, ducking his head a little. It doesn’t come back up.

“Chan? You good there?”

“Huh? What? Yeah. Your jeans, just, fit you well.”

_Ah_. He found the thighs. Perhaps Minho is a genius. Woojin can’t help blushing a little though, but he plays it off with a little laugh.

“Yeah, I guess so. Where are we eating, anyway?”

“Just around the corner, there’s that new Spanish place, do you know it?”

“Oh yeah,” Woojin hums, “my roommate was wanting to go there, I think.”

“Minho’s your roommate, right?” Chan asks, glancing over at Woojin. His hair looks extra fluffy under the streetlights.

Fuck.

“Oh god, has he talked about me?”

Chan laughs. “Not much. Just mentioned you in passing. I play piano for him at the bar.”

“I know,” Woojin blurts out against his better judgement. “I… I saw you perform with him a few weeks ago.”

“Oh no shit?” Chan asks, sounding far too pleased. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Woojin mumbles something noncommittal about not wanting to bother him and one too many whiskeys for polite company and Chan laughs it off, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Come say hey next time. Who knows, maybe I’ll even play you a song,” Chan says, dropping Woojin a wink that his heart finds far too alarming.

“Oh my god, get off me you idiot,” he splutters, pushing Chan’s arm off his shoulders. He breaks into a run, sprinting off down the block, but Chan’s right at his heels, laughing manically in the moonlight and Woojin wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

- 

 

Three days. It’s been a whole three days since he’d written Chris a little message telling him all about his first time trying a flat white, and even asking for the other’s opinion on coffee orders.

Three days without a reply.

Woojin wonders if this is going to be the first time he doesn’t receive a reply from Chris. No matter how slow he is, Chris _always_ responds within a day or two, and Woojin is getting antsy waiting. He’s even gone so far as to avoid washing his arm in some fucked up hope that leaving the fading ink on his own skin will keep it on Chris’ too.

The waiting’s driving him insane, so he goes downstairs to drive someone else insane instead.

Breaking into Seungmin and Jeongin’s apartment isn’t hard. Seungmin doesn’t call it _breaking in –_ he thinks it’s an unfortunately necessary intrusion, and Jeongin just laughs and questions why they’d ever given Woojin their spare key.

It’s definitely because of that one time Jeongin had flushed his keys down the toilet and not because they’re all ridiculously co-dependent and prone to crippling bouts of loneliness.

No one’s home, but that hardly matters. Woojin owes Seungmin a surprise turning up on the couch visit, so he’s here to pay his dues. He steals the good blanket from Jeongin’s room as he goes, remembering fondly when it was _his_ blanket, before he was too much of a softie to steal it back from Jeongin.

It really is a great blanket, soft in all the right places and dark enough to hide the years of coffee stains that refuse to come out, so it doesn’t take long for Woojin to drift off, legs splayed over the couch, blanket clutched to his chest.

He stirs when someone sits down on his feet a little too forcefully, a muffled curse breaking through his daze.

“Who the fuck are you,” he murmurs, because neither Jeongin or Seungmin says shit like _crikey_.

“Um, Hyunjin?” comes the tentative reply, and _shit_. Woojin opens his eyes and yep, he just cursed out Seungmin’s skittish soulmate. Nice.

“Of course,” he tries with a smile, “sorry, you just woke me up.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Woojin just hums. Hyunjin’s a little awkward, which is to be expected, but Woojin can’t help but smile a little when he sees the hesitant way the other boy’s curled up at the end of the sofa, taking up as little room as physically possible, but his presence spreading far beyond the close bend of his legs. 

“Where’s Seungmin?”

“He went to the shops. Apparently there’s no food in this house.”

It’s said with a little derision, a little amusement, and Woojin doesn’t begrudge Hyunjin that; it’s hard to imagine anyone as put together as Seungmin struggling with basics like stocking a pantry. Hyunjin’s really done a number on him. Woojin thinks it’s a nice change, it’s more than past the time that Seungmin deserves something that lets him let go a little.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything.”

Hyunjin blinks a few times too many. “No? Seungmin said you practically live here anyway, so.”

“Lies.”

“Do you mind if I turn up the heater though? It’s a bit cold in here.”

He’s right; Woojin hadn’t bothered to turn the heat on when he’d come in, because _blanket_ , so it’s more than a little understandable that Hyunjin’s feeling the winter air a little more than one should when _inside_.

“Go for it.”

It doesn’t take long for the heat to spread; Jeongin had invested in a state of the art floor heater last winter, complaining about the risks of chilblains like the hypochondriac he is.

It’s obvious Hyunjin underestimated the power of the heater, a rookie mistake, because Jeongin does _not_ fuck around when it comes to heating, because soon enough, he’s shrugging off his jacket with a mild frown.

Woojin’s more than a little curious to see what’s hidden under his sleeves, because it’s been a while since Seungmin’s bared his arms to the harsh press of the winter and the world’s curious eyes, letting long sleeves be the insulation for his skin and his heart.

Woojin sees roses curling over wrists, a beautiful gradient of the palest pinks to the deepest red, beauty and pain and _love_.

And all he has to show is an empty canvas of skin, the only markings made by his own hand.

What Woojin’s never told Seungmin, over all the years of watching colours bloom and fade with unpredictable levels of affection, was that he was sure his soulmate loved him. There was always something there, a hint of unexpected fire beneath the cool tones, that made Woojin certain.

And now, since meeting Hyunjin, since seeing the warm colours, the reds and pinks, that take over his drawing, the riot that’s being painted on skin, he’s only more certain.

It’s funny really, how a handful of Hyunjin’s cryptic drawings can say more than years of carelessly scribed words.  

“You’re good for Seungmin, you know that right?” he asks softly, eyes on Hyunjin’s arms. The thorns poking through from behind petals just make it all the more beautiful.

It’s _real_.

“Oh.” Hyunjin startles easily. “Thank you. I’m trying to be.”

“Just be you. That’s all he needs. And I need to go.”

“Are you sure? You don’t wanna stick around until Seungmin gets back?”

“No, it’s fine,” Woojin sighs, “I’m just here for the blanket anyway.”

“Well if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure, Hyunjin.”

Woojin leaves quietly, dropping the blanket over Hyunjin as he goes, hearing the appreciative sigh as he reaches the door.

It’s a slow walk back up to his apartment, drooping steps and a heavy head pulling at his threads a little too roughly.

He’s raw from seeing Hyunjin, the bloom of roses on skin and love in hearts a little too painful right now, so perhaps that’s why he’s more than a little on edge as he scrawls out another message to Chris.

_I’m guessing you’re fine and just don’t want to talk to me._

There’s nothing, as expected, as Woojin watches his wrist for the next fifteen minutes.

And there’s nothing when he wakes up with dying hope the next morning.

Or the next after that.

 

-

 

Working with Chan, Woojin finds, isn’t necessarily _bad_ , but it’s not too far off to say that its hard. Chan has precision – precision to the point of mania and Woojin understands what Chan’s friends meant by _demanding_. He wonders, briefly, if he should have put more stock into the barely intimidating warning Chan had tried to give him right back at the start of this, but then he remembers how he’d looked as scary as a wombat and can’t help but snort a little.

But hard isn’t bad. Woojin works. He works hard; he works every day to make sure his dreams, his efforts, don’t go to waste. So Chan, with his meticulous revision of every beat and every note, sits well with Woojin. He doesn’t mind staying late with only the dim light of desktops to guide them, he doesn’t mind the countless drafts littered in his inbox.

He revels in it.

So, when Chan storms into the studio one day, mouth twisted in distaste over the chorus’ chord progression, Woojin just smiles.

“Look, I’m sorry, Woojin, but I really think it could be _better_ , you know?” Chan says, wincing a little as he blows steam off his hot chocolate.

“Channie, really, it’s fine. If you’re not happy with something, it’s only logical that we should change it. Besides, I’m not that thrilled with it either.”

Okay, maybe Woojin is a little reluctant to let go of a few of those bars, little melodies he’d written in some of his increasingly frequent sleepless nights, but the relieved smile and slump to Chan’s shoulders is all the reason he needs.

Besides, kill your darlings, they all say.

And perhaps, deep down, in the part of him that he forces away because it only festers unproductivity and stagnation, he knows that anything Chan will come up with will be a million times better.

“Go wild, Chan. I’ll keep working on editing the lyrics for the verses.”

Woojin gives him a firm pat on the shoulder in reassurance, when all he’d rather do is wrap him in the tightest hug ever and cuddle until there’s no tomorrow. With a sigh, he moves away from the computer, letting Chan have free reign over the composition.

Settling himself onto the couch, feet tucked under his legs, pillows and notebook on his lap, Woojin tries to reconcile himself with the realisation that there’s not anything he wouldn’t do for Chan.

It would help if Chan gave him the slightest indication that he was happily taken by his soulmate, by anyone, or even just waiting, with stars in his eyes for whoever is on the other end of his line. 

But no. Chan never talks about his soulmate, Woojin’s never seen him push up his sleeves to write a quick message to them, he’s never had any reason to convince his dumb heart to let go of Chan. 

His brain knows that there’s someone out there who’s meant for Chan, just like Chris is meant for Woojin, and Woojin just needs to keep his head down, do his work and come out of this assignment with full marks and another friend. 

Not the boyfriend he so desperately wants but can’t have.

The sooner he learns how to let Chan go, the better. 

 

-

 

Double and triple checking the number, Woojin rings the buzzer, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for the intercom to connect.

“Woojin?” comes Chan’s voice, grainy through the old, dodgy speakers, but nonetheless endearing and _god Woojin is whipped_.

“Yeah! Just me, Channie.”

“Alright, come on up.”

Chan’s apartment block, for being in the complete opposite directions to Woojin’s, looks strangely similar. The carpet in the foyer is definitely the same, as well as the light fittings that can never seem to keep a working lightbulb.

When he knocks on the door, it isn’t Chan that opens it, but Changbin.

“Oh! Changbin, right?” he asks, just as Chan skids around the corner in his socks.

“Yeah,” Changbin says, nodding shortly, turning to Chan, “Woojin’s here.”

“Yeah, thanks, Binnie, go bother Jisung or something,” Chan whines, pushing Changbin away and reaching out to drag Woojin inside. “C’mon, Woojin, let’s go to my room.”

With a final glare at Changbin, Chan leads with Woojin down the hall to the last door. Chan’s room is just what Woojin expected; there’s a keyboard crammed into the corner, plenty of music scores, a bookshelf full of CDs stacked high.

What confuses him though, is the flag on the wall.

“Australia?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m Australian.” Chan smiles. “No one really picks it though, I’ve lived here for years. I grew up there though.”

“No wonder your English is so good,” is all Woojin can think to say. “You do have the accent though, now I think about it.”

Chan just smiles. “Everyone seems to find that particularly amusing. But you know what they say, Australian accents are hot.”

“Are they?” Woojin asks, wrinkling his nose. He doesn’t really understand what Chan’s talking about; all he'd thought about it was a vague curiosity when listening to 3RACHA tracks. If anything, he laughed a little. Whoops.

“Well, fine, then. Be like that,” Chan pouts, sitting down on his bed and powering up his laptop. “Come sit, let’s start this episode.”

Woojin sits down hesitantly, snatching one the throw pillows scattered over the bed. He hugs it to his chest, resting his chin on top.

“Comfy?” Chan asks.

Woojin glances over at him, sitting there with a smile on his face. “Yes.”

Chan just shrugs and hits play.

It’s nice, watching _One Piece_ with Chan. None of his other friends have any interest in it, so Woojin’s used to dark evenings of solitary exclamations and lonely excitement. 

By the time the episode’s finished, Woojin’s lying down with his head resting against Chan’s thigh, still clutching the pillow in his arms.

“Do you wanna go get some dinner?” Chan asks, leaning ever so slightly to place his laptop on the floor.

“In a minute,” Woojin says, not wanting to move just yet. It’s warm in Chan’s room and his thigh makes for a very comfortable pillow. Chan makes a vague noise of assent and Woojin swears he can feel fingers playing with his hair. “I still can’t believe you live with Changbin and Jisung. You’re all inseparable, aren’t you?”

Chan hums. “Sort of? I’ve never really thought about it like that. They’re there when I need them. I’m there when they need me. So I guess between the flat and 3RACHA and life we are around each a whole lot. I do escape to the studio a lot though when I want some quiet.”

“Oh.” Woojin wonders if all those times he’d gone to the studio, bearing coffee and met with Chan’s smile have been brash intrusions that Chan’s too polite say anything about. “So… do you prefer to be alone at the studio then?”

“What?” Chan asks, puzzled. “No, I like having you there just fine, Woojin. It’s those idiots I want to get away from.”

Woojin rolls onto his back, staring up at Chan’s profile. He’d got it in one, exactly what Woojin was feeling, and it’s nice almost, in the scariest, most intimate of ways, someone knowing the hidden thoughts you can’t bring yourself to let out to air.

“Good. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Chan looks down, locking eyes with Woojin, fringe falling into his eyes. “You could never.”

Woojin can feel his eyes widen slightly, but he can’t blink them down, even when he starts to feel them water a little. He can’t look away from Chan, from his deep brown eyes that hold all the sincerity and trust that Woojin knows are in his own and maybe, just maybe a hint of something more.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. It doesn’t matter. Woojin lets himself slow down when he’s with Chan, racing heartbeats and hurtling thoughts stilling with the barest of efforts. And then his heart races for an entirely different reason.

“Woojin?” Chan breaks the spell, clearing his throat a little. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mm.”

“Why don’t you live with Seungmin? Like, he’s your best friend and you live in the same building, but…”

“Oh,” Woojin says, surprised. That’s the last thing he’d been expecting Chan to ask. “There’s not a really a huge story there. I mean, we used to live together, a few years ago. But then, when Jeongin came to university… he needed Seungmin more than I did, I think. He never outright said anything, like he never asked if they could live together, but I knew. Jeongin’s always depended on him. I was more than a little bitter about it, honestly. Seungmin and I can live together seamlessly, but I suggested that Jeongin move into my room and I move out. And then I met Minho anyway, so it all turned out for the best. And besides, like you said, they’re right downstairs.” 

“Oh my god, Jinnie,” Chan sighs. 

“What?” Woojin asks, unsure of why Chan’s smiling at him like he does at his favourite spiced hot chocolate.

“You’re so selfless. How are you so _nice_?” Chan groans, before he’s reaching over and wrapping Woojin in the tightest hug imaginable. 

Woojin lets out a startled laugh, wrapping his arms around Chan’s too skinny back, making a mental note to shove Chan full of food when they finally go get dinner.

“No nicer than you, Channie. After all, not everyone would let some random crash on their astoundingly comfortable bed,” Woojin jokes, trying to reign the conversation back in, far away from cliff’s edges where his heart has far too much chance of taking a dive.

“You’re not just _someone_.”

God fucking _damn_ it.

“And neither are you,” he says, feeling yet another notch being carved into his heart, courtesy of one Bang Chan.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, taunting fate and risking so much, yet Woojin can’t bring himself to break the eye contact they’ve found once again. He can’t bear to let go of Chan, determined to soak in as much contact as he can before they have to go live their lives apart, with someone else.

“Alright,” he says with fake cheer, springing up off the bed and grabbing Chan’s hand to pull him along. “Let’s go get some food.”

 

-

 

_I’ma protect all my ninjas._

Woojin crosses it out himself.

_Shut up._

  

-

  

When Woojin wakes up in a mess of blankets, chicken containers and melon soda bottles, he knows he’s spiralling. It hasn’t gotten quite this bad in a long time; the loneliness hasn’t reared its head like this since Seungmin went to America for a year and Chris all but disappeared for near on a month. Now, with Seungmin wrapped up in Hyunjin, and Woojin’s self-imposed isolation, he’s left himself the most vulnerable to his own mind he’s been in years.

It’s an effort to get out of bed, but he does it anyway, gritting his teeth and sending a text to Seungmin, telling him to expect Woojin in twenty minutes, and if he doesn’t show, to come beat his door down. And then his ass.

He takes a quick shower and forces himself into some acceptable outside clothes. If he puts on the jeans that made Chan’s eyes widen for a good twenty seconds, that’s no one’s business but his.

He leaves his phone on the counter, slipping out the door after leaving a note for Minho. Woojin plods slowly down the stairs, one, two, skip a few, drawing out the seconds until he inevitably breaks down. He wonders if it’s going to happen as soon as Seungmin opens the door, or whether his eyes will hold the tears back until he’s at least sitting on their lumpy sofa.

It’s the former. The site of Hyunjin slipping out the door with a sheepish grin, tugging a beanie down over his unruly hair, Seungmin waving him off fondly, looking happier than Woojin’s ever seen him, tips Woojin over the edge.

“Minnie,” he chokes out before collapsing against Seungmin’s chest, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Oh, Jinnie,” Seungmin sighs, wrapping his arms around Woojin, “let’s get you inside.”

Seungmin sits him down with the blanket and goes to fix him a cup of tea. Jeongin wanders out of his room while Seungmin is in the kitchen and settles down beside Woojin.

“Not a good day, Jinnie?” he asks, slumping down until his thigh rests against Woojin’s. It’s a particular brand of Jeongin comfort, the younger never really feeling like reaching out much past that, but it works for the best of them.

“Nope,” Woojin sighs, fussing with the blanket until Jeongin is safely snuggled under it too. That’s when he notices the tense set to Jeongin’s shoulders and the red impressions of braces left shining on his lips. “Not a good one for you either, huh? Seungmin not cuddling with you enough now that Hyunjin’s around?”

Woojin means it as a joke, but the way Jeongin stiffens even more at Seungmin’s name, and then even further at Hyunjin’s, has Woojin drawing in a breath.

“Oh, Innie… I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, Woojin, you don’t understand,” he starts, eyes filling with the kind of tears Woojin has seen in his own eyes far too much recently.

Jeongin glances towards the kitchen, takes a deep breath, and pushes his sleeves up.

The first thing that Woojin notices is the drawings. They’re everywhere, beautiful, heartfelt sleeves stretching along Jeongin’s pale skin. They’re still light and loving instead of the dark he’d seen for so many years, and Woojin would recognise Hyunjin’s style anywhere.

He can tell Jeongin sees the exact moment he realises, because the boy starts to hyperventilate, hands fisting in the blanket in tight balls. Woojin smothers him in a bear hug.

“So…” he says, voice lowering to a whisper, “Hyunjin…”

“No,” Jeongin says shakily, wiping stray tears away, “both of them.”

Woojin thought he couldn’t get more surprised. It’s not something he’s ever heard of before, having two soulmates, but nothing is impossible. He wonders how Jeongin’s hid it from Seungmin for all these years – it’s not as if Jeongin is much of a sharer, but Seungmin is notoriously nosy. And they were roommates. But then again, long sleeves in summer go unquestioned, full sleeves of tattoos are increasingly common, no one bats an eye at missing markers and ink stained fingers. They live in a don’t ask, don’t tell world. 

“You need to tell them, Jeongin,” he starts, not knowing quite how he can sit there and advise Jeongin to positively rip his heart out of his chest.

“I know, just–” he cuts himself off at the sound of footsteps, hastily pushing his sleeves down just as Seungmin returns from the kitchen.

“Oh god, what happened to the two of you?” he asks, setting the tray down on the table, three mugs steaming in merry chorus. No wonder Jeongin’s heart is breaking like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Ah,” Woojin forces out a chuckle, “I’m just making Innie sad with my pitiful life.”

“Kim Woojin, you are not pitiful and that is that,” Seungmin scolds, squishing down into Woojin’s other side. “You are simply a flailing boy. It’s okay to flail. Even though you look ridiculous doing it.”

Woojin snorts.

“Thanks, Minnie, you always know just how to cheer me up.” It’s not even a lie; Seungmin knows just how to make Woojin feel that much lighter when he’s down.

“What happened though? I haven’t seen you this bad in years,” Seungmin murmurs and Woojin sighs, tipping his head onto Seungmin’s shoulder as he takes Jeongin’s hand in his.

“Chris… and Chan…”

“Jinnie, you can’t string Chan along like this, you do know that, right? When you like someone, you light up so much it turns you flirty. And that’s not fair to Chan, or Chris, or yourself. Unless,” he pauses, “unless you actually want to date Chan.”

“See that’s the problem. I do, I really do. I like him so much, but I can’t just pretend that Chris doesn’t exist.”

Even just having these feelings feels like a betrayal; he can’t even imagine what actually dating Chan would be like.

“I know I’m not one to talk, but Chris has never given you any indication he wants to find you. It’s been long enough, Jinnie, maybe you should let yourself be happy for once, as much as you can. I’ve forgiven Hyunjin for what he did, he had his own issues, but he never led me on. I was never under any impression that I had a soulmate that wanted me. Silence is damning.”

Woojin thanks every god he knows that Seungmin’s shut his eyes as he talks, head tipped back onto the sofa, unable to see the silent tears that start to fall down Jeongin’s cheeks.

“But it was my choice to stay. I chose to wait for Hyunjin, despite all that, even though I had no obligation to. You have a choice, Woojin. You can wait for Chris to get his head out of his ass, if he ever does, or you can go after what will make you happiest.”

“I don’t even know what that would be though,” Woojin laughs, wiping away the tears as he thinks about just how pathetic this is. He has a soulmate, a live, kind soulmate, but here he is pining away over someone who doesn’t belong to him. And he can’t let either of them go.

“Chris, he’s ridiculous, honestly, with how well he flirts and the way he talks. And he started talking to me more lately, _he_ was starting the conversations, but then he suddenly just up and ignores me. It’s infuriating. I think I could be happy with him, but then he never seems that interested.”

“He sounds like a bit of a fuckboy, honestly,” Jeongin pipes up sheepishly, “sorry, Jinnie.”

“No, it’s fine, he sort of is. I still like him though, god knows why.”

Seungmin snorts. “Be that as it may, he’s still fucking with you. Chan sounds like a better option.”

“I know… he’s great, smart, makes me laugh, anything I could ever want. But he’s got his own soulmate to worry about.”

“That’s for him to deal with. Here’s what I think. Wait until the end of your assignment, then ask him out. If he says yes, great. If he says no, you never have to see him again if you don’t want to. You just have to go the rest of the semester without combusting.”

“Thanks, Minnie,” Woojin laughs, “I’ll try my best. But really, thank you. I was nearly going insane with the worry of it all.”

“Aw, Jinnie. You can always count on us. And Hyunjin too now! You two still have to properly meet, you know. Isn’t he great, Jeonginnie?”

“Y-yes,” Jeongin stammers out, blushing just a little. Woojin almost coos.

He sighs instead.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry I’ve been a shit friend lately. I’ve been too wrapped up in all this drama.”

“It’s fine. Just come over for movie night on Friday. Hyunjin’s bringing some of his friends too. You can even bring Chan if you want. Scope it out a little.”

Woojin smiles.

“Sounds good.”

 

-

 

“What are you doing on Friday?”

“Huh?”

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to ask Chan when he was up to his neck in semiquavers, but maybe Woojin finds things easier when there’s the barrier of headphones that give him a second chance at fucking up.

“Friday night. Are you busy?”

Chan scrunches up his face a little, his thinking face coming out all too strong.

“I don’t think so. Was just gonna go to the studio probably.”

“Seungmin’s having a movie night, do you wanna come?”

“Does he have good taste in movies?”

“Only sometimes. Worth the risk?”

Chan smiles, eyes crinkling up adorably. “I think it is.”

 

-

 

Woojin arrives at Seungmin and Jeongin’s apartment for movie night armed with a box of his famous double chocolate brownies and Chan trailing behind him.

“So, uh, how many people are gonna be at this thing?” Chan asks as they approach the apartment.

“Honestly? I have no idea. It’ll be Seungmin and Jeongin, Seungmin’s soulmate, and he’s bringing some people I think… and then Minho might turn up later, depending on how his date goes. All I know is that I ordered a shit tonne of chicken just in case.”

“Alright,” Chan smiles, “I’m excited to meet your friends, Seungmin sounds like a riot.”

Woojin can’t help but laugh.

“Maybe not so much a riot…” he pauses to ring the doorbell. “More of an oncoming typhoon.”

It’s Jeongin who opens the door, sweater paws in full swing, the fairy lights in the hallway glinting off his braces as he breaks into a smile.

“Jinnie! Is this Chan?” Jeongin asks, sounding far too curious for Woojin’s liking.

“Yes, I’m Chan,” he says, reaching forward to pull Jeongin into a bro hug. Woojin rolls his eyes.

“This is Jeongin,” he says, pushing past both of them into the apartment. He finds Seungmin in the kitchen, and Woojin sets his brownies down with a thud.

“Chan gave Jeongin the bro hug. I’m terrified.”

Seungmin winces.

“Well we certainly have a night ahead of us then. Don’t mind that, go to the living room, Hyunjin and his friends are already here.”

“Okay, you coming?” Woojin asks, lingering in the doorway.

“No. This is my me time. Hyunjin’s friend is pissing me off and I don’t particularly feel like stabbing something today.”

Woojin lets out a little laugh.

“Take all the time you need then. I don’t wanna have to take anyone to the hospital tonight.”

Woojin wanders down the hall, towards the sound of laughter and what sounds suspiciously like a mosquito. Chan and Jeongin have already made their way to the living room; Jeongin sitting a little too close to Hyunjin to be accidental, Chan close to a boy Woojin recognises all too well.

“Oh Changbin! Fancy meeting you here!”

“Hey Woojin,” Changbin replies. “Yeah, Hyunjin invited me. I see you invited Chan.”

The last bit is said with a tone Woojin does not like at all, thank you very much.

“Yes, I did. Mind introducing me to your friend?” he deflects, gesturing at the boy on Hyunjin’s other side.

“Oh, this is Felix,” Hyunjin mumbles around a mouthful of food, gesturing lazily, “we have dance together. And he’s Changbin’s soulmate.”

“Cool,” Woojin smiles, just now noticing the way both Changbin’s and Felix’s hands disappear under the blankets. Cute.

Woojin sits himself down on a beanbag, pulling another over for Seungmin as he suspects Jeongin stole that spot next to Hyunjin from under his nose.

“So what are we watching?” Woojin asks, leaning forward to take a piece of chicken from the box on the table. Chan catches his eye and winks. Fucker.

“These idiots want to watch _Iron Man_ , but I don’t wanna,” Seungmin calls, finally emerging from the kitchen, Woojin’s brownies clutched to his chest. He flops down beside Woojin and glowers. “I can’t believe I’m this outnumbered in my own home.”

“Oh shush, Seungmin, or I’ll go sit on your bed naked again,” Jeongin pipes up, already searching _Iron_ _Man_ up on Netflix.

“None of you get any brownies,” Seungmin shouts over the screeching that’s filled the room, “just me and Woojin.”

“Aw, you don’t want to give any to Binnie?” Changbin pouts, and Woojin doesn’t know whether to coo or laugh. What comes out is a strange mix of both.

“None for you, you gremlin,” Seungmin shoots back, and Woojin can see his patience rapidly depleting.

Chan swoops in before Seungmin’s fuse really blows with a laugh that sounds just the tiniest bit fake to Woojin’s ears.

“Alright guys, let’s just watch the movie. There’s more than enough food for all of us, I think Woojin ordered too much chicken anyway,” he says with a quick smirk shot at Woojin.

Woojin doesn’t even care that he got thrown under the bus, because Chan is such an effortless peace keeper. The calm that immediately settles is worth it, and hey, now he has an excuse to eat as much chicken as he wants. As he leans forward to take as many pieces as he can carry, Jeongin quietly gets up and slips into the kitchen, not before swiping the box of brownies from where Seungmin placed them on the floor. When he comes back, no one notices the bulge under his sweater, nor when he quietly sets the box down behind the sofa.

And if Jeongin looks a little smug as he plays the movie and presses closer to Hyunjin, no one comments on it, but Woojin sees the way Seungmin aggressively picks at a loose thread on his beanbag. He’ll have to ask what’s up later, but for now he settles for placing an arm around Seungmin’s shoulder and pulling him close.

The movie passes slowly; Woojin isn’t really focused on the plot, too busy looking at the mess that’s Seungmin and Hyunjin and Jeongin, too busy avoiding looking at Chan, who keeps fucking _winking_ at him and it’s a lot.

It’s tense.

The only ones who haven’t seemed to notice are Changbin and Felix, who are caught up in their own world of the other and the movie. The air’s getting so thick with unsaid words and heavy emotions that Woojin nearly screams in relief when Minho texts him.

“Guys!” Woojin calls, waving at Jeongin to pause the movie. “Minho’s on his way. He’s gonna bring his date too!”

“Oh good,” Seungmin says, “I want to meet the man who tamed the hoe.”

There’s a pause, before they all descend into laughter. Because while not all of them necessarily know Minho personally, everyone knows _of_ him. They don’t bother with the movie after that, letting it play as background noise as they speculate what kind of boy Minho’s gonna bring home.

“He’s gotta be as cat obsessed as Minho,” Felix says, “there’s no way it’d work otherwise.”

“Nah man,” Hyunjin argues, “I reckon he’ll be a dog person. Minho would _hate_ it and ask him out anyway.”

“Well whoever it is, he must a nice guy, Minho wouldn’t bring him here otherwise,” Jeongin says quietly, helping himself to another piece of brownie. Seungmin still hasn’t noticed he’d stolen them.

They all consider that. It’s true that Minho’s dated his fair share of assholes, but Woojin knows he wouldn’t be this serious this fast, bringing him to meet Woojin and Seungmin and Jeongin, if he wasn’t sure that this guy was different.

“Well I guess we don’t have to wait that long to see; they’re here,” Woojin says, checking his phone. He jumps up before anyone else can, wanting to meet Minho at the door and away from everyone’s prying eyes.

When he opens the door, he’s not surprised to see Minho completely enamoured with the boy next to him, hands entwined, stars in eyes.

What does surprise him, is who the boy next to him is.

“Minho! And Jisung!”

“You two know each other?” Minho asks, eyes alight.

“Yeah, Chan introduced us,” Woojin says, Jisung smiling and nodding.

“Yeah! Woojin’s not just your friend, you know,” Jisung says haughtily, making a face at Minho, who makes one right back.

Woojin melts. He can see the easy chemistry the two of them have, clear as day, and his heart aches a little.

“God, are you soulmates or something? You’re perfect for each other, aren’t you?”

He regrets it the moment he says it. It’s not something you really joke about, soulmates, especially not with Minho, who’s struggled with following his heart or his head his whole life.

But when he sees the way they glance at each other, hears the little giggles, he knows he doesn’t need to worry.

“We are, actually.” Jisung says shyly, “We didn’t know when Minho asked me out. We only found out tonight.”

“I’m so happy for you both,” Woojin murmurs, pulling them both into a hug. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

The two of them trail behind Woojin as he makes his way back into the living room, giggling and whispering all the while.

Woojin smiles. Young love.

“Hey Channie,” he calls, “did you know that apparently all your friends know my friends?”

Chan just blinks at him confusedly, until Jisung and Minho come into view behind him.

“Yah, Jisung!” Changbin calls, “you didn’t tell us you had a date tonight!”

“Oops, sorry,” Jisung laughs. “No, I’m not really, you know now! And Minho is my soulmate, so you know, it doesn’t really count.”

And just like that, all order is lost as everyone gets too excited to keep their inside voices. Woojin eases back into his beanbag, content to sit back and watch. He startles a little when Chan sits down next to him.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Chan murmurs, eyes fixed on the tender smile Jisung is shooting at Minho.

“It is,” Woojin agrees, his eyes fixed on the wonder on Chan’s face.

“Do- do you have anyone special, Woojin?”

The question startles Woojin. He and Chan don’t talk about this. They don’t talk about love, about soulmates, about anything that could very much send Woojin into cardiac arrest.

“Maybe,” he settles on, when his heart cams down enough. “There might be someone for me, if he wants me to be someone for him.”

And with that, Woojin picks up his empty glass and walks calmly back to the kitchen, slow steps hiding his racing heart and the start of panicked tears in his eyes.

 

-

 

Woojin glances at his watch again. The lecture is passing so damn slowly; half the class is asleep and even the lecturer is grimacing in sympathy at just how _boring_ this week’s content is. He takes another sip of his coffee, giving past-Woojin a pat on the back for splurging on that extra caramel syrup, because damn does he need it.

It’s the one thing that’s gone right for him today. His computer had run out of charge just as the lecture had started, so now he’s left defenceless against the boredom pressing in on all sides. Boredom all too often gives way to stray thoughts that push the boundaries of when and where, and Woojin finds himself thinking about the one thing that is particularly counterproductive these days.

Chan.

It’s safe to say that _Operation: Invite Chan to Movie Night_ was a big old failure, and ever since, Woojin’s been a little… withdrawn, is how he thinks Chan put it when they met in the studio the other day.

He resents Chan, almost, for the fact that he can mess up his life this easily. He’s not eating well, he’s kind of avoiding Seungmin just because he doesn’t want to answer any questions about _feelings_ , hell, he’s even skipped two classes, something he’s never done in his whole time at uni.

So yeah, fuck Bang Chan.

Finally, his lecture ends, and perhaps Woojin’s the first out of the door, because all he wants to do is go home and sleep.

Standing in his path however, on a warpath of his own, is one Kim Seungmin who scorned, hell hath no fury like.

Seungmin’s sitting on the bench right outside Woojin’s lecture theatre, legs and arms crossed in perfect alignment, somehow raising an eyebrow and glaring at the same time.

Woojin sighs.

“How long have you been sitting like that, Minnie?”

Seungmin immediately relaxes. “Far too long. Thank god; I thought that lecture would never end.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Come on,” Seungmin says, standing up, stretching a little. “Let’s have lunch at my place.”

Woojin knows it’s useless to argue, so he trails behind Seungmin on the way to the bus stop, takes the earphone Seungmin all but shoves in his ear and lets it happen.

But. They arrive to an apartment full of Hyunjin, Felix and chicken.

Seungmin _never_ lets them have chicken. It’s always beef with that bitch.

“We’re having chicken,” Woojin says, eyes narrowing.

Seungmin narrows his right back. “Great observation. Hurry up and eat it.”

Woojin reluctantly takes a piece; it’s even his favourite cheese flavour that Seungmin absolutely hates. His suspicions have only been confirmed.

“This is an intervention, isn’t it,” he sighs, setting down his chopsticks and leaning back in his chair. There’s no point trying to enjoy lunch now, what with the three musketeers on the other side of the table staring rapiers at him.

“Quite,” Seungmin says, “glad you’ve caught on.”

_Quite_.

“No offence, but Felix, what the hell are you here for?”

Felix just blinks. “Oh I was just hanging out here. Hyunjin said I could stay for the intervention though. Ignore me, I’ll just eat the chicken.”

“Fine,” Woojin acquiesces, waving a hand. May as well get it over with.

“Alright, so,” Seungmin starts, pulling a list out of god knows where and a pen from behind his ear. “First up. Stop living in denial.”

“Denial of what, exactly?” And really, Woojin doesn’t know. His feelings for Chan? Long accepted. Knowing Chris was never going to stop being a piece of shit? Long know, recently accepted.

“Denying that you’re unhappy like this.”

Woojin wasn’t expecting that. “Oh, shut up Seungmin.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, but it’s Hyunjin who talks.

“Look, Woojin. We don’t really know each other, but it’s kind of obvious that you’re not quite right. This is obviously fucking you up a little, right? So maybe just… accept that? And once you’ve accepted it, you can do something about it.”

“Hyunjin’s right,” Seungmin chips back in. “I thought maybe things would get better after the movie night, like you’d closer or something. But now you’re just sad. I don’t like it, Jinnie.”

“I guess…” Woojin sighs. He doesn’t really know how to explain it all, what’s going on inside his mind, other than a strange mix of panic and what could be love and plenty of other things too scary to vocalise. “I’m starting to realise just how much I like Chan. And it’s not sustainable. The obvious reason being Chris but who even knows how Chan feels. I doubt he feels anything toward me.”

Not even Seungmin can argue with that one. Because yeah, Chan’s the variable in this equation. And it’s one none of them know how to solve.

“Guys,” Felix says slowly, voice breaking the silence. “I though this intervention was just to get Woojin to pull his head out of his arse but you’ve really got no clue, do you?”

“What?”

“Chan’s totally obsessed with you. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Felix says. “Literally nothing,” he adds at Woojin’s raised eyebrow.

“You sure about that, Felix?” Seungmin asks, downing the last of his apple juice.

Felix laughs. “I’m pretty positive. Honestly, Woojin is all he ever talks about. It’s kinda annoying. Sorry.”

“Well that’s simple,” Seungmin sighs. “Just go ask him out, Woojin.”

“I can’t just dismiss Chris like that though. We’re _soulmates_. What kind of person am I if I knowingly hurt my soulmate?”

Hyunjin winces. Seungmin’s grip on his hand tightens. Woojin knows that was probably the _worst_ thing to say to those two, but really, a man has his limits when he’s sat down for an intervention.

“Then you be honest,” Seungmin bites out, looking two seconds away from slamming a fist onto the table. “Yeah, sure it’s hard, but you’ve both been idiots. Just tell him you met someone and want to give it a chance. If it’s meant to be it’ll be. If it isn’t it won’t. Simple as that.”

“You make it sound so damn easy.”

“Because it _is_. You’re the one that’s making this unnecessarily complicated. Just… do it.”

 

-

 

Woojin sighs. Rolls over. Pulls his doona tighter around his shoulders. His phone tells him its nearing three thirty, and really, that’s a time no one should be awake out of anything but choice. There’s nothing specific keeping him awake; rather the crush of a long week and the undoubtedly doubled weight he’ll get in the next one.

Exams suck.

There’s not enough hours in the day for Woojin to study enough to satisfy his obsessively high GPA _and_ sort out his mess of feelings. So he studies.

Priorities.

He thinks.

There’s a cold snap passing through Seoul, and Woojin feels it, shivering for what feels like the thousandth time since he’s been lying here staring at the ceiling. Admitting defeat, he braces himself enough to get out of bed, hopping over to the heating and switching it on with a sigh.

His doona’s even more inviting with the added heat in the air, a pleasing cocoon of warmth and sleep. But sleep doesn’t come. He’s restless; it happens, sometimes, when the corners of the world are a little too sharp for anyone’s good, when the sunrise is a little too dim, the sunset a little too fast.

Fatigue drags at his eyelids, he yawns, he dozes. He’s awake.

Eventually Woojin gives up on sleep, dragging his doona with him into the kitchen to make some coffee. He watches the light morning snowfall from the kitchen counter, head resting against the icy window in a way that perfectly offsets the right amount of heat he’s finally getting from his doona.

Maybe this is what peace would feel like, if his brain would finally shut up. It’s the textbook end to a bitter week, he thinks, the aftertaste of too strong tension lingering and making a perfect ring stain in Woojin’s mind.

He sat, he sits, he will sit. For hours, he rests against the window, letting the morning creep past him. Then, he lets himself do what he actually wants.

**_cafe instead of studio this afternoon?_ **

Woojin barely hesitates before he sends it, confident enough in his own shitty week and what the press of exam season must be doing to Chan. It isn’t long before he gets an affirmative reply, and that’s that.

It’s a smoothie day. And a Chan day. A smoothies with Chan day. The best kind of day.

Woojin bangs his head against the door before he leaves, cursing his weak heart and boys with curly hair and sleepy eyes.

The walk to the café is chillier than usual and Woojin wants to rip winter’s calling card in two; he doesn’t need even more goosebumps forming on the strip of skin between his socks and his jeans.

He’s happy to see Chan sitting waiting for him, a plate of cake and two smoothies in front of him. That’s what Woojin chooses to focus on – the lovely slice of red velvet cake that he’s become awfully partial to, the bright red of his strawberry smoothie outshining Chan’s pale watermelon pink. Ha.

He doesn’t look at the way Chan smiles when he walks through the door or the adorable way he’s got his head resting on his hand, elbow propped up next to his open laptop.

“Ayo.” Chan says, and Woojin can’t help but smile at how things have changed. Chan’s calmer than he was a few months ago; what was once frantic thoughts hurtling into actions that barely left time for a pause let alone a breath has turned into an easy determination that’s no less fierce.

“Heya Channie.”

It’s startling really, how far the song’s come. It’s almost been secondary, what with falling for Chan and all the mess in and between that, but it’s moments like these, when Woojin’s watching Chan rework the same bar for the seventeenth time that he remembers what brought them together in the first place.

They work for a long time, probably too long if Woojin’s honest with himself, but his productivity’s always better with Chan, and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to take advantage of that.

They take turns buying more cake, ignoring any real food, because sugar highs and racing hearts go hand in hand, and Woojin’s here to fall just that much faster.

“I guess we should get going, hey?” Chan asks with a glance at his watch. It’s close to ten, and Woojin has an early class the next day, not to mention Chan’s promise to at least try to get some sleep before midnight.

“Yeah,” Woojin hums, glancing outside, dreading just how cold it’s gonna be out there.

Chan holds the door open for him when they leave, of course, and Woojin smiles a little before flinching when the cold hits him.

“Oh!”

Chan laughs. “It’s really like that, hey?”

“It’s so cold, Channie!” he cries, jumping from foot to foot.

“Yeah, yeah, come on Woojin, let’s get you home.”

They walk quickly; not leaving time for the cold to seep any further into their bones, hurried steps getting lost in the echo of narrow streets on sleepy nights. Just before they reach Woojin’s building, it starts to snow a little.

“It’s so pretty!” Woojin yells, admiring the way the streetlights shine through the gentle fall of snow.

“It’s kind of magical, isn’t it?” Chan laughs, spinning around a little. He ends up facing Woojin and all he can see is the way the snow sticks to Chan’s eyelashes.

“Yeah,” Woojin breathes, suddenly transfixed by more than just the snow.

“Woojin-” Chan cuts himself off, cursing. “Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Chan sighs, “come on, let’s get you home.”

Woojin doesn’t move for a beat or two, long enough that he has to jog a little to catch up with Chan’s quick steps that took him right to Woojin’s door. 

“Slow down man, what’s the rush?”

“I’m trying to stop myself from doing something that’s probably incredibly stupid.”

“Too late,” Woojin sasses, but Chan doesn’t look amused.

“Woojin,” Chan starts, then breaks off cursing. “I’m sorry, but…”

“What-”

And then Chan’s pressing him into the cold brick of Woojin’s apartment block, hands on his waist, and then lips on his. Woojin gasps a little from shock, then sighs, pressing his lips back against Chan’s, kissing him back. He reaches up to tangle his hands in Chan’s hair, tugging a little on the messy curls that he loves so much. 

Chan sighs into the kiss, tightening his grip on Woojin’s waist. His tongue darts out to lick at Woojin’s bottom lip, slipping all too smoothly into his mouth. Woojin doesn’t know whether to focus on that or the hand that’s slipping inside his jacket to run tenderly over his back.

And then Chan’s kissing down his neck, sucking occasionally and Woojin loses his bones. His knees give out a little, but Chan slips his thigh between Woojin’s before he can become a pile of slush on the snow slick ground. Woojin can feel the harsh press of the stone against his back, but it’s irrelevant now that there’s the press of Chan’s thigh between his own and he groans.

“Ch-Channie.” It comes out a bit desperate and Woojin’s a little embarrassed, but it’s washed away by Chan’s little chuckle and the way he’s marking up Woojin’s neck all too well.

“I know, Jinnie.” 

Perhaps it’s the Jinnie, or maybe it’s the way that Chan bites a little too hard on Woojin’s neck, but suddenly his veins are awash with ice and he can’t do anything but push Chan away from him. 

“Shit, uh, sorry,” he gasps, curling in on himself. “Sorry Chan, I just- I can’t.” 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking first, shit. Are you okay?”

Woojin doesn’t answer, just leans his head back against the cool brick and breathes. 

“Fuck, Woojin, answer me, are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he manages to gasp out because he can’t stand hearing that tone coming from Chan. “I’m okay, this- this was just a mistake… I’ve gotta go.” 

And he runs. He unlocks the door faster than he’s ever done before, disappearing inside the building, away from Chan’s concerned gaze that’s seared into his mind, no matter how far away he gets. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s in bed, curled up under his doona, and that’s when the tears get the better of him. 

 

-

 

“That’s a real nice hickey you’ve got there, Woojin,” Minho sings as he wanders out of his room the next morning. 

Woojin barely looks up from his coffee. “Can we not do this today?” he asks weakly, tightening his grip on the mug.

“Okay, Woo bear,” he just hums, then pulls some eggs out of the fridge to make breakfast. Scrambled, not fried. What Woojin prefers, what Minho doesn’t.  

It’s the small things that matter. 

Woojin abandons his coffee and goes to hug Minho. Tucking his face into his shoulder, he murmurs a small thank you. 

“Anytime, Woo bear, anytime. Now, what’s the deal with that hickey? You got yourself a nice gentleman caller or something? _No_ , don’t give me that face, you can’t bottle this shit up, trust me.” 

He considers. Perhaps Minho has a point. Woojin doesn’t know if he would survive another breakdown in such quick succession, and he’s way too close to spiralling for anyone’s comfort. So, he takes a breath, and he talks. 

“Chan… Chan kissed me.” 

“Chan? Nice!” Minho crows. 

“No! Not nice. What about our soulmates?”  

Minho frowns. “I thought you weren’t feeling it so much with Chris?”

“Well, yeah, I guess, but what about _Chan’s_ soulmate? It’s not fair to them.” 

“That’s Chan’s problem. Did you like kissing him?”

“Yeah,” Woojin mumbles. 

“Date him then. He’s totally boyfriend material. Trust me, I’ve heard things from Jisung,” Minho snickers, pulling some vegetables out of the fridge. 

“Oh my god, I _know_ he’s boyfriend material I’ve wanted to be his boyfriend for like, months.”

“Exactly,” Minho yells, pointing a carrot at Woojin. “So, ask him out. He’s clearly into you.” 

Woojin grimaces. 

“Oh no, what did you do?” Minho sighs. “You didn’t. You _did_. You fucking ruined it, didn’t you?” 

“I may have told him it was a mistake. And ran away.” 

“Oh, Woojin. You’ve gotta go get your man back now.”

“I can’t just jump into something with Chan when I haven’t actually settled anything with Chris. I need to give it a shot with him first. I owe him that much at least.” 

“Alright,” Minho acquiesces, “if you really think so. But Chan seems like a much better option, for the record.” 

“Believe me,” Woojin sighs, “I know.” 

 

-

 

“Woojin.”

“God, what is it with you people and waking me up?”

Jeongin tuts. “Whatever. Just get up, this is important.”

“You’ll understand the importance of sleep when you’re older,” Woojin sighs, chucking his pillow into Jeongin’s face as revenge. Ha.

“Ugh, what the fuck,” he splutters, and Woojin doesn’t laugh. He really doesn’t. “Anyway. I’m telling them. I don’t know when, but I’m going to do it.”

Wait. _Wait_.

“As in…”

“Yeah.”

“Oh Innie,” Woojin says, climbing out of bed with little reluctance. “I’m proud of you.”

Woojin wraps him in a hug, squeezing a little too tight, but Jeongin’s organs could do with some rearranging.

“It’s gonna be fine, right?” he mumbles into Woojin’s chest, hands gripping tightly to his pyjamas.

“Of course,” Woojin murmurs, “you’re their soulmate just as much as they’re yours. And besides, you really think Seungmin would ever do anything to hurt you?”

“Well, he did nearly push me down the stairs the other day.”

“You know what I mean. You’re in safe hands with those two. They care about you so much, Innie, you’ll be just fine.”

“Better be.”                                                       

 

-

 

_Tap. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap._

He doesn’t like today’s rhythm. The pen beats out the tempo of the uncertainty in his brain, filling his ears again and again in a constant feedback loop that sends his mind spiralling round and round.

It’s all well and good to follow Minho’s advice, and his own for that matter, but Woojin is struggling with the whole _doing_ part of carrying out the plan. Reaching out to Chris is more than a little nerve-wracking.

Woojin never thought he’d be someone to define his life around his love life, but right now, all that’s really mattering is figuring out where his heart lies between Chris and Chan. Chris is his  _soulmate_ , there should be no one more important. But Chan, Chan with his grins and sleepy eyes is still slipping further and further into Woojin’s life.

Woojin hadn’t expected Chan to worm his way into his heart like this. He’s never really had a  _crush_  before. It’s all been Chris; he hasn’t needed anything else,  _anyone_  else, when he has the other boy just a few scribbles away. But whatever he’s feeling for Chan is well beyond a simple _crush_.

Something’s gotta give.

So he lifts the pen to his skin, takes a breath, and writes. 

_Would you want to meet sometime soon?_

As soon as the question mark’s been dotted he flings the pen away and pulls down his sleeve. He’s too nervous to read the reply, even though he knows it won’t come for hours yet. 

He distracts himself with finishing off the last few lines of lyrics and sending them off to Chan, even though typing the other boy’s name into the address bar has him pursing his lips with frustrated affection. 

By the time he’s sent the email, cleared his inbox, deleted and sent folders three times, Woojin feels ready to lift his sleeve. 

There’s a reply, shockingly enough. 

_Maybe not just yet._

Well if that isn’t a rejection if Woojin’s ever heard one. 

He doesn’t bother replying. Pulling his sleeve back down, he face plants into the desk, slamming his head against the wood with barely restrained rage. 

Perhaps rage is too strong a word; he’s not mad, per se, more angrily resigned to having a soulmate that seems to want nothing to do with him. It’s baffling, trying to wrap his head around Chris and his hot and cold nature. 

So in a natural Woojin move, he decides to stab himself in the foot and find comfort in Chan. It’s useless to keep avoiding him at this stage. Woojin’s just doesn’t want to. He’s making himself uselessly sad.

He wanders through campus slowly, letting the snow settle on his coat and in his hair, appreciating the aesthetic - a result of Chan’s influence, that trashy Tumblr kid. Woojin can’t really bring himself to care about the cold that’s slowly settling deep into his bones. The piercing chill doesn’t bother him, not when he’s this concerned with his shattering heart. 

He ignores how counterproductive going to Chan’s is to that. 

It’s not long until he arrives at Chan’s apartment, and he hopes that Jisung and Changbin are out. He’s not too keen on crying his eyes out in front them tonight. He knocks; a little hesitantly maybe, but there’s no one but Woojin and the dull shine of the moon through the window to see. As expected, Chan is wide awake when he answers the door, despite the fact that midnight’s been and gone. 

“Woojin?” Chan exclaims, “What are you doing here?!” 

Woojin can’t hold back the tears that burst out at the concern etched into Chan’s features. 

“Channie,” he sobs, “I’m sorry, I just- I just don’t know what to do anymore.” 

His heart just about implodes as Chan pulls him into a hug, long arms wrapped around him, comforting and making him cry harder all at once. 

“Let it out,” Chan hums, rubbing Woojin’s back.

He grips Chan tighter, pulling him closer, and Chan lets him.

“Come on, come inside.”

Woojin lets Chan pull him into the apartment, steering him straight to Chan’s room, bypassing a curious Jisung on the sofa. He settles on the bed, and Chan disappears for a few minutes, so Woojin makes himself comfortable amongst all Chan’s pillows.

He comes back, poking his head through the door shyly, two mugs in his hands.

“Hot chocolate?” Woojin asks when he catches the smell.

Chan nods happily. “Better than coffee for when you’re upset.”

“Do you have marshmallows?”

“Of course,” Chan says, serious as ever, and Woojin appreciates a man who knows the importance of marshmallows with hot chocolate.

Chan waits for them to get settled, sitting against the headboard with Woojin’s legs half in Chan’s lap, before he asks.

“So… what happened?” 

Woojin sighs. Chan had all too easily distracted him from Chris’ rejection, and bringing it back is the last thing Woojin wants.

“Is it okay if I tell you another time? I don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

“Of course. Let’s distract you then, hm?”

Chan pulls up _One Piece_ on his laptop, picking the episode right where they’d left off before. Woojin relaxes further into the pillows, leaning a little into Chan, and Chan lets him, patting his leg a little when Woojin’s tenses.

“You should stay here tonight, I don’t think you should go back home this late,” he murmurs, drinking the last of his hot chocolate and pulling Woojin’s empty mug out of his hands.

“Alright.”

Chan lends him some track pants that are a little short on Woojin’s legs, but Chan just shrugs with a smile. Woojin doesn’t know what to do with himself, once they crawl into bed, curling up into himself, but Chan’s not having that.

“I wanna cuddle,” he whines, tugging Woojin closer. “You wanna be the little spoon?”

Woojin sighs. “Yeah.”

Woojin lets Chan entwine their legs and hands, and for once Woojin doesn’t have uncertainty staining his vision, doesn’t have an out of control heartbeat piercing his eardrums. He’s content.

They fall asleep like that, quiet murmurs fading in and out until silence settles over them.

He leaves Chan’s place in the morning, ducking his head a little as he says goodbye to Chan at the door. Chan’s busy wrapping a scarf around his neck, mumbling about how Woojin’s ten kinds of irresponsible for going anywhere without proper insulation. Woojin smiles to himself, hiding his grin the scarf as Chan finally looks up at him.

“I’ll see you soon then?”

“Of course, Channie. And thank you.” 

“Anytime,” Chan positively beams, and Woojin quite literally melts. He sure there’s some ice left frozen in his chest from yesterday that promptly combusts at the sight of a sleepy Bang Chan’s smile.

With a final wave, Woojin leaves, content spreading through his bones so strongly that the crisp winter breeze can’t touch him. He goes home, he showers, he thinks.

It takes a good fifteen minutes of staring at the tiles and feeling the water beat down on his head, but Woojin finally _decides_. 

He wants it. He wants Chan. He wants it enough to forgo any chance of anything he might’ve had with Chris. 

So. Woojin goes to the coffee shop with renewed hope, getting the usual order for studio days, one for him, one for Chan, and maybe he steals the barista’s marker to draw a little heart on the side of Chan’s cup.

“Morning Chan,” Woojin sings as he pushed open the door to the studio, “I come bearing coffee!” 

Chan spins around in his favourite spinny chair and makes little grabby hands. 

“God bless you, honestly. I had this really great idea just after you left my place so I came straight here to try to get it down. I think it’d suit the bridge a lot more than what we’ve got, but I mean we don’t have to change it unless you want to, this is  _our_ song after all, but I thought it could be cool–”

“Chan, shut up. Move away from the computer, drink your coffee, and then we can have a listen, okay? I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is.” 

“Alright, so this is something that I wrote a while ago, but I just remembered it and I thought it might fit well.” 

The lyrics layered into the backing track they’d prepared are sung a bit hesitantly, like a secret that’s being tentatively pushed into the light. He listens though, takes in what Chan’s beautiful voice is saying, enjoying how it changes when he flawlessly switches between Korean and English. 

And then.

_I’ll save you from the gangsters better than those little chicks._

It takes a second for him to realise. He  _knows_  those lyrics. He’s seen that line, etched into his skin in bright green ink, free of the line he’d really wished was sliced through the middle of the letters. 

It’s all he can do not to collapse onto the floor and  _cry_. Instead, he blurts out the first thing he can manage.

“I  _told_ you that was a shit lyric, why did you keep it?!” 

“What?” Chan says, flicking between windows on his desktop, “I’ve never put it in this song, isn’t in any of the drafts we made, hell I never put this in  _any_ song, I nearly crossed it out-”

He cuts himself off though, and turns around on that goddamn spinny chair to face Woojin. The look on his face almost makes Woojin laugh; it’s pure confusion with a touch of disbelief that grows as the seconds pass.  

“Wait.  _Jinnie_?” 

He’s so hesitant with the way he says it, but it’s enough; it shatters the foundation they’ve built over the past few months, breaks the illusion that they could ever just be  _friends_ , it destroys the barricades around Woojin’s heart. 

“Oh my god do you even know how stressed I’ve been?” he cries, slapping Chan repeatedly in the chest. “I was so worried because I was falling in love with you, but that doesn’t even matter because you’re the fucking idiot that thinks ninjas need to be in every single song you write!” 

Chan, that beautiful  _idiot_  just laughs in his face and Woojin’s heart can’t take it. “I can’t believe this. We’re _soulmates_. God.”

For a minute, they just stare at each other, the silence ringing with disbelief and relief.

“Chris, though?” 

“It’s my English name.”

“Right. Australian.”

“Australian.”

Woojin can’t help it. He laughs. And then Chan laughs too. It’s all a little ridiculous, but that doesn’t matter. Because they’re laughing, together.

 

-

 

It’s later, when Woojin’s back home, curled up at his desk, blanket firmly around his shoulders, stolen back from Jeongin on his way up the stairs, that he calls Seungmin.

“Seungminnie.”

“It happened, didn’t it? You worked it out?”

Woojin just sighs. It’s useless trying to surprise Seungmin. “Yeah. God, don’t steal my thunder.”

“What happened though?”

“They’re the same freaking person.”

“Chris and Chan?” Seungmin shrieks. “Chan is Chris?”

“Yeah.”

“God. Who would’ve thought.”

“Neither of us, that’s for sure.”

“Are you guys okay, like… after everything that happened with Chris?”

“I think so? It’s confusing honestly, they’re so different, but now I think about it, it’s really obvious they’re the same person?” Woojin murmurs, pulling absentmindedly at the strings of his hoodie. “I’m not quite sure how to reconcile it all.”

“Not to give the most useless advice ever, but just talk to him, Jinnie,” Seungmin says, humming a little when Woojin doesn’t reply. “Okay?”

Woojin sighs. “Okay.”

It’s just a matter of when and where Woojin finds the courage.

-

 

It’s not news, but courage doesn’t come easily to Woojin. 

It’s all been so simple – Chan is Chris, Chris is Chan, and Woojin hasn’t had to make any decisions. He hasn’t had to _try_. It’s all a bit too foreign. Woojin’s used to working his arse of for anything and everything, and something that takes little to no effort sets alarms bells ringing all too loudly.

It had been so many weeks of wondering, _hoping_ that it’d all work out; long nights and dim mornings spent with tightly strung fretfulness and drawn out breaths. And just like that, it's over. It’s unsettling.

Woojin’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, because he’s definitely not wearing a pair. He’s just watching Chan work, admiring the way the headphones still squash his hair, trying to appease the unsettled feeling in his gut.

But he’s done with settling for moping, stewing around with nothing to show for hours of endless worry.

“Chan,” Woojin calls, proud of how steady his voice comes out. “Do you… do you really want this? Now that you know that I’m Jinnie. Not just Woojin.”

Chan spins around, raises an eyebrow. “Woojin. I can guarantee that I want all of you. Woojin and Jinnie. I just got lucky they were both you.”

“Yeah, _lucky_ , but why didn’t you want me? You were always so hesitant, it was almost like you didn’t care. And remember that day I turned up at your place crying? That was because of you. That was the day you’d flat out rejected me and I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“At the start, I guess I was just happy to let it happen naturally. Trusting that it’d all come together when the time was right. But then I met you. I thought… it sounds bad, but I thought that if I talked to my soulmate more I could ignore my attraction to you. But then sometimes I wanted to ignore my soulmate for you.”

“And when you wouldn’t meet me?” 

“I was too busy trying to get over you.”

“What?”

Chan raises an eyebrow, gets up and joins Woojin on the couch. “Woojin, I’d been falling for you for months. I’d just kissed you and you ran away. I wasn’t ready to throw myself into a relationship with anyone, even my soulmate, after that.”

“I understand. I feel…” Woojin sighs, running a hand through his hair, wondering how to say it. “Don’t take this the wrong way but, I kinda feel like we were _more_ in real life rather than as soulmates?”

Chan pauses. He’s unreadable, all blank eyes and creased eyebrows.

“Woojin, did you know that every song I’ve ever written was for you? Every single one. They’re all about you,  _my Jinnie_. It’s kinda pathetic really, my life was one giant love song that you’ve heard in pieces that I’ve scribbled onto my wrist.”

Shit. Woojin did not know that. He remembers pretty much every lyric, and the ones he doesn’t remember are carefully written down somewhere, as he does every time some of Chan’s work turns up on his skin. And now he’s gone and shit on all of the meaning that those lyrics held for Chan. 

“But then I met you. And I was so damn _floored_ by you, honestly, that it kind of just made me wonder how I’d thought that Jinnie was enough?” Chan says, a little uncomfortably, hesitant in the honesty.

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s different,” Woojin breathes. He’s relieved Chan understands what he’s talking about; it’s not that they had nothing before, when they were just words on skin and ink running dry, but there’s something undeniably different about the way they connected as two boys in a music studio.

“I don’t think it was anything about our lack of connection or anything, because look at us, we know we’re fine. But I feel like we got trapped into a routine when we were too young. We never really opened up to each other, or saw each other as something we’d have to work for?”

“Right,” Woojin says, smiling more than a little. “God, I can’t believe this. I spent so damn long thinking you wouldn’t want to date me. It wasn’t until you kissed me that I actually realised that you liked me back. I mean, Felix had told me you did, but you know…”

Chan laughs. “Woojin, did you really never notice how flustered I was around you?” 

“I thought you were just tired!” Woojin splutters. 

“I’ve been tired my whole life, I can control myself when I’m tired just fine. You on the other hand, you’re a whole different ballgame, babe.”

He ruins it by saying  _babe_ ; that broad Australian accent never fails to make Woojin cackle.                                      

“Oh, thanks,  _babe_ ,” he imitates, laughing his head off as Chan tries and fails to pout. 

Woojin gets a pillow thrown into his face for his efforts, but if he throws one, and then himself, back over to the other side of the couch, Chan isn’t complaining. It’s a little uncomfortable though, the way he’s sprawled across Chan, an elbow pressing into his stomach, a knee digging into his thigh, so he shifts, resting himself onto Chan’s chest, staring down into his eyes.

“Hi there,” he says, grinning so wide it almost hurts.

“Hey,” Chan smiles back, eyes crinkling up and Woojin can’t help but chuckle a little and bury his face into Chan’s shoulder.

“I really, really like you, Channie.”

“Me too, Jinnie. _My Jinnie_.”

Woojin snorts. “It was really right in front of our faces, wasn’t it? How the hell did we not notice?”

Chan cups his cheeks and pulls Woojin up to look him in the eye.

“I don’t know,” he laughs, “but it doesn’t matter. We have each other now.”

“Yeah,” Woojin breaths, and he feels brave suddenly; maybe it’s Chan finally melting the ice that had taken up home in his bones or maybe it’s just the result of looking at Chan for far too long and not having the chance to _touch_.

Either way, he leans in, resting his hands gently on Chan’s shoulders and he presses his lips against his. Chan makes a soft noise of surprise, hands fluttering a little until they come to sit at Woojin’s hips.

They kiss slowly; soft hesitant presses of lips that make Woojin’s heart beat too fast for anyone’s good. Chan sighs a little, reaching up to take Woojin’s face in his hands, tilting his head a little to slowly lick into his mouth. 

“God, Jinnie,” Chan breathes, brushing Woojin’s hair out of his eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think you’re forgetting that we’ve kissed before-”

Woojin gets cut off by Chan’s lips against his again, pressing firmly and shutting Woojin up all too easily. 

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean,” Chan murmurs, ghosting kisses across his cheeks. “I’m just happy that I can kiss you now.”

“Go ahead then,” Woojin smirks, and Chan wastes no time leaning back in, pushing Woojin back onto the couch, pinning him down into the pillows. He bites gently on Woojin’s bottom lip, tugging until Woojin lets out a little gasp, and before he can blink, Chan’s pushing his tongue into his mouth, letting Woojin suck on it a little before taking control again.

Woojin hitches his leg up over Chan’s hips, pulling him down until he’s closer, until he can feel Chan’s body pressed right against his own. Chan grinds down a little hesitantly, testing the waters, but Woojin arches up and pulls his leg further down, reaching up to grab one of Chan’s hands.

“Channie,” he whines, and Chan jolts a little, before leaving another long kiss on Woojin’s lips as he grinds down further.

He pulls away to rest his head against Woojin’s. “I still love your forehead.” 

Woojin can’t help but laugh. “You’re such an idiot.” 

“Only for you.”

 

-

 

**_i finally talked to chan_  ** **_it’s all good :) ill tell you more later_ ** **_but we should double date with you and hyunjin_ **

**_Uh_. ** **_Might wanna make that me Hyunjin and Jeongin_ **

**_holy shit innie actually did it_ **

**_YOU KNEW KIM WOOJIN WHAT THE FUCK_ **

**_whoops gotta go back to my boyf ttyllll_ **

 

-

 

Woojin glances up from his textbook as the door to his room opens. It’s Chan that walks in with a smile on his face. 

“Channie?”  

“Hey Jinnie. I thought I’d surprise you,” Chan says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re not busy are you?”

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Woojin grins, beckoning Chan over. “What’s up?”

Chan smiles, that shy little smile of his that crinkles his eyes up and makes Woojin’s heart race a little too much to be normal.

“Nothing. Just wanted to see you.”

“Good thing you’re here, then.” Woojin says, tucking himself into Chan’s side, pulling the doona over Chan’s legs. “You’re not leaving now. Gotta be my pillow forever.” 

“Forever sounds good.”

And if Woojin ends up abandoning his textbook far too soon in favour of a nap with Chan’s arms tight around him, that’s no one’s business but Minho’s as he takes sneaky pictures from the doorway.

 


End file.
